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[Sundance]

December 2, 1990
Action Force Command, Belgium

Seated in his office, The Commander was finishing reading a report from Special Weapons Force on a test-flight of the American-built V-22 tilt-rotor aircraft they’d acquired for evaluation when he noticed the BBC Six O’clock News was starting on the TV set in the corner. The Commander turned the volume up and put aside the report from the test-pilot code-named ‘Brains’.

“Today’s headlines: The terrorist organisation Cobra has invaded the Central African Commonwealth; thousands flee as Cobra forces march on the capital. President Kowombe has been evacuated to Kampala in Uganda.”

The Commander swore under his breath, muted the TV set and grabbed his phone, dialling a three-digit number.

“Van Berg,” replied a Dutch accented voice.

“It’s the Commander,” the British general replied. “What the hell’s going on in Africa and why hasn’t my unit been alerted?”

“Calm down, Commander,” Van Berg answered as the picture on the TV screen switched to show a convoy of Cobra vehicles, including several HISS tanks, STUNs and trucks speeding along a highway, before cutting to another clip, this one showing two Rattlers screaming low over a city before something on the ground exploded.

“Calm down?” The Commander asked incredulously.

“Yes. Calm. Down.” Van Berg paused before continuing. “This all kicked off about four thirty local time. The Commonwealth’s state broadcaster just launched their third channel, an all-news one like CNN. They were doing a report from St. Michaels near the Sudanese border when they were interrupted by a Cobra armoured column speeding through. Not long after that, reports came in from Peterton and Nicholasboro, the other two main border towns. Fifteen minutes after the initial reports, a pair of Rattlers destroyed the main TV transmitter in Saint Sebastian, the capital. Commonwealth News switched to a back-up and continued reporting as the local air force scrambled their Hawk fighters and F-5 Tigers. Cobra’s Firebats and Rattlers tore them apart. President Kowombe was evacuated by the order of the Chief of the Defence Staff at five pm, local, when it became obvious they were losing. His plane was escorted to Uganda, but they lost four of their six escorts to Cobra. The President was on the phone to NATO at the time. We’re still trying to make sense of it all. The Natangan TV network picked up the story and is re-running it. From what we’ve got out of the BBC, their local correspondent in Natanga picked up on the story and got the NTB to share the footage from the Commonwealth.”

“Did Kowombe ask for intervention?” The Commander asked.

“No, he didn’t. He demanded Action Force quote, ‘crush Cobra and destroy their forces,’ unquote. We’ve heard from one of our contacts at the UN. The Commonwealth Ambassador is calling for an emergency session of the Security Council.”

“Let me talk to my force commanders. We’ll get moving.”

Before General Van Berg could answer, The Commander hung up the phone then picked it up and dialled a new number.

Action Force Operations Base
Birmingham, England

Skip answered the phone before the second ring. “Yes?”

Eagle looked around at his Z Force counterpart as he continued listening with half an ear to the briefing he was being given.

“Yes, sir, Z Force and SAS Force are ready to deploy sir. We’ll get moving, right away,” the Scottish officer replied to whoever was on the phone.

Skip hung up and turned back to Eagle. “The Commander wants us moving as fast as we can to the CAC and a plan to kick them out.”

“Right,” Eagle said, his posher accent contrasting with Skip’s Scots voice. “I’ll get my boys moving.”

December 5th, 1990
Natanga Military Airfield #6

In the space of three days, a combat engineer force assigned to Action Force from the Spanish Army had transformed a dirt-strip base with a runway of only 1,500 feet in length into a two-runway field with a large mass-parking ramp and extensive fuel and weapons storage areas. The airfield had quadrupled in size and the advance team had removed the only permanent Natangan military presence, twelve sentries who’d been found literally sitting with their feet up when the team arrived.

Transport planes were constantly using the now-six thousand feet long runways to deliver supplies and equipment as Action Force continued to fortify their forward base, which the Natangan government had allowed them to use.

The base was now defended by four American-made air defence radar units, which had hypersonic long-range SAMs attached to them, as well as 10 SAS Force Mobile Missile Systems for medium-range SAM coverage and 20 Z Force Whirlwind towed anti-air artillery units for short-range cover. The SAM units and the radars had been tied together in a cutting-edge network operated by Jammer, one of Z Force’s computer specialists and Scorpion, one of their air defence specialists from a pre-fabricated command centre, which was also providing air traffic control thanks to a team of Space Force specialists.

As well as the transports flying in and out, the base was now home to a dozen SAS Force Hawk light attack/scout helicopters, a complete squadron each of Z Force’s Dragonfly attack helicopters and Tomahawk medium-lift helicopters and eight of their Trojan heavy-lift helicopters. Space Force’s fighter jets were staging from a Natangan Air Force base nearer the capital with properly paved runways. The rest of the equipment at the forward base was an armoured battle force of nearly seventy vehicles that was the equal of several nearby nations’ firepower.

In an open-sided tent being used as the ops room, Quarrel – Z Force’s Swiss Intelligence specialist – was briefing several of the senior operatives.

“This is the latest intel we have as of ten minutes ago,” Quarrel began. “Our principal sources are the four UAVs provided by Special Weapons Force.”

Quarrel gestured toward another part of the tent where Lightning, one of SWF’s resident geniuses was sitting at a desk with four PCs on the top.

“The recon drones were deployed overnight and have been gathering intel for us for the last two hours. Our second source of intel is the Commonwealth Army. We’ve managed to make secure contact with the Chief of the Defence Staff who is at large in the country, commanding what forces he has left in armed resistance.”

“I thought the CDS left the country with the President and the two defence ministers,” put in Sergeant-Major Zero, the senior NCO in Z Force, who was standing at the table next to Skip and Peregrine, the Dragonfly squadron leader.

Quarrel shook her head, “No, that was his deputy. The government in exile in Kampala consists of the President, the PM, the defence minister and his deputy, the foreign minister, the deputy CDS and the Commonwealth ambassador to Uganda.”

Skip cut in. “So, what are we facing?”

Quarrel looked at him. “Nearly four hundred Cobra vehicles, as well as over a hundred and fifty aircraft.”

There was a pause as the personnel present took in that news.

“The situation as it stands is this: Cobra occupies most of the north and west of the country. Their assault was fast and deadly. Air support including FANG and Mamba helicopters with Trouble Bubble Flight Pods decimated most of the Commonwealth’s armoured and artillery units. Fighter support, including two complete Firebat squadrons savaged the local air force, which was made up of British Hawk jets and American F5Es. Cobra has a squadron each of Condor bombers and Hurricane attack jets as well as two squadrons of Rattlers for close support. The main thing we need to address is the use of ballistic surface-to-surface missiles by Cobra.”

Quarrel picked up several photos and slapped them down on the map that dominated the table the briefing was taking place at.

“Twenty Imps and twenty Adders at four separate sites, each defended by six ASP batteries and accompanying Stingers.”

She placed another set of photos down, like the others these were black and white aerial shots. They showed several buildings ruined by explosions.

“They’re indiscriminately firing rockets into the major cities, including the capital Saint Sebastian,” Quarrel went on. “These are nothing more than acts of terror, to put fear into the local populace. Local intelligence puts the death toll in the thousands. We’ve identified the launch sites as you can see, but hitting them won’t be easy if we intend to minimise collateral damage.”

Of the four launch sites, Skip, Eagle and Space Force commander Sky Raider could see from the photos that three were positioned in built-up areas. The fourth was in an area of open ground.

“My Skystrikers can take care of that site,” Sky Raider said, tapping the photo of the open site. “We can use our Rockeyes to take them out without any trouble.”

The man standing next to Sky Raider spoke up, “My team can handle one of the targets, sir.”

Eagle frowned at the Space Force member before saying, “Sorry, you’re new aren’t you? I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

The other man saluted. “Code-name Thrust, Colonel. I’m the squad-leader for the jetpack troopers.”

“Oh, yeah, Chuck mentioned you guys. The ones who can fly around like King of the Rocket-Men.” Eagle returned Thrust’s salute.

“More or less, sir, more or less…” Thrust looked at his commanding officer, “My team can hit one of the sites. Give us a transport to get us within 30 miles of the target and we’ll take it out.”

Sky Raider mulled it over. “Fine. If you can’t pull it off, we’ll figure something else out.”

Standing next to Eagle, Quickfire spoke up next. “My commandos can handle one or even both of the other sites,” the German said. “Depending on whether you wanted them wiped out simultaneously.”

“Let’s take them out over two nights,” Eagle replied. “The jetpack guys can hit one and you hit the other in one night. The Skystrikers can hit the third and Captain Bulldog’ team can hit the last one. If either mission goes wrong the first night, we hit them a second time the next night.”

“You can count on us to handle it,” Bulldog put in. He was another British officer, a former member of 2 Para who led the SAS Force’s new airborne spearhead team.

“So, that’s the ballistic missiles dealt with,” Skip said. “What else have you got, Quarrel?”

“The recon drones haven’t found the Cobra airfields yet.” Quarrel glanced at a digital clock attached to one of the tent poles across from her. “Captain Bloodhound’s advanced recon team was deployed an hour ago by a Hercules transport. They’re not due to report in for another two hours. We think the aircraft are being concealed in the countryside where we haven’t been looking, since so many of them are vertical take-off capable. The Condors and Firebats may even be operating from inside Sudanese territory. Bloodhound’s team is searching a possible location of one base. Lieutenant Orion’s Paratroop squad have been deployed as well, but we don’t expect them to report for several hours yet.”

“Wait, what?” Eagle said. “I didn’t know Orion’s team had been deployed.”

Skip sighed, “I ordered them deployed to check on a possible Cobra supply dump that the Commonwealth Army reported to us. I acted under my authority as Z Force commander to deploy my assets to carry out a time-critical mission.”

Eagle held his hands up in a placating manner, “Okay, fine. I just thought we agreed we’d tell each other when we sent units out.”

“We did. I didn’t tell you yet, which I should have. I’m sorry.” Skip turned back to Quarrel. “Carry on, agent.”

“Yes, sir. The Cobra ground forces are deployed across a large swath of the country, mostly in the towns and cities. Even with air superiority or even air dominance, if we’re to minimise civilian casualties and property damage, we’re going to have to move in ground units,” Quarrel explained.

“Then it’s important we establish air dominance,” Sky Raider said. “Find us those airfields and we can start bombing them.”

“Or we can go in and frag the aircraft,” Eagle said.

“Either way, we need to find those aircraft,” Sky Raider said. “In the meantime, let’s start planning these raids on the ballistic missile sites.”

December 6th 1990, 01:00 local time
Somewhere over the Commonwealth

The C130 Hercules transport plane was flying at its maximum altitude, as the four members of Space Force’s jetpack squad got ready to execute their mission. Each of the squad wore a special outfit which had an all-in-one helmet and torso to protect their bodies during the flight, from friction and from bullets up to 20mm calibre, and with more flexible sleeves and legs to protect them, but also allowing them to move around on the ground. Large shin-length boots protected their feet, whilst gauntlets that neared their elbows protected their hands and arms. On their backs was the business end of the outfit, the twin jet engine Single Man Aerial Unit, more simply known as the jetpack. The twin engines produced over 250lb of thrust with a top speed of 200 mph. Controls built into the gauntlets allowed the wearer to steer and activate the engines, with steering partly managed by the use of thrust-vectoring exhaust nozzles. The soldiers’ only weapons were compact sub-machine guns strapped to the armoured torso like a HALO jumper. The suits also incorporated an oxygen rebreather system to allow them to breathe normally at high speed and altitude and a holographic heads-up system on the visor. The set-up was a prototype system, as was the entire outfit, created by Action Force’s brain trust in Special Weapons Force.

The loadmaster lowered the C130’s rear ramp and gave them a good luck thumbs up before they moved to the ramp. The green light came on and Thrust stepped off the ramp and into freefall. Velocity, the Russian member of the team dived off like a swimmer on a board. The Canadian member of the group, Ballistic, jumped off the ramp. The final team member, Ramjet, leaped into the air, twisted, waved to the loadmaster and fell away.

The four team-members plunged through the air in freefall, arms and legs tight at their sides.

As they fell through the sky, the holographic HUD displayed their altitude, which was winding down at high speed. As the soldiers neared 10,000 feet above ground, they activated the jet engines with a double-tap of one of the buttons on their gauntlets.

The engines span up and fired off, pushing them earthward even faster, before they used a combination of vectored thrust and twisting their bodies to level off at 7,000 feet. A controlled descent to 1,000 feet followed.

The group sped through the night sky toward the town of Barbaraton like a group of missiles. The Cobra missile site’s air search radar was picking them up intermittently, but the Vipers manning the radar unit couldn’t decide what the returns were and didn’t report them.

The jetpack squad circled Barbaraton, descending as they did to below rooftop level. They sped through the town toward a large shopping centre at the edge of the town, dropping to a mere ten feet off the ground.

A hundred yards from the shopping centre, Thrust steered his suit in to land and cut the engines a foot above the ground, he hit the ground and staggered as he did, but stayed on his feet. Velocity landed next to him and hopped around as he tried to stay up right. Ballistic touched down and fell to his knees.

Ramjet flew over the other three soldiers, still two feet off the ground, cut his engines and dropped into a three-point landing, on his left foot, right knee and right hand, with his left arm thrown out behind him.

After a pause, he straightened up and turned to see the others pointedly ignoring him as they unslung their weapons and checked them. Ramjet swore under his breath, after the first twice of him landing in such a fashion during flight training, the rest of the squad had got tired of it.

[Sundance]

Thrust was carrying an IMI Uzi 9mm submachine gun with a folding stock he’d opened out and tucked in tight to his right arm. Velocity was carrying a Soviet Izhmash PP91 KEDR 9mm submachine gun with an unfolded stock whilst Ballistic also carried an Uzi. Ramjet, however, carried a Heckler & Koch MP5K 9mm submachine gun with no folding stock, but fitted with a fore-grip.

The four men moved out toward the shopping centre car park as a large group of Cobra troopers and Vipers began charging toward them.

The Cobra troops began to open fire with various assault rifles they were carrying, whether they were Kalashnikov-derived weapons like the AK47 and AK74 or the MARS AR9 assault rifle the Vipers typically carried. The 7.62mm bullets began pinging off the Space Force troops’ armour, chipping paint, but otherwise not damaging them.

The four jetpack troopers charged forward, still taking hits, to reach effective range for their guns, before opening fire. The soldiers fired short bursts, dropping their targets before firing at the next soldier. They only had a pair of spare magazines, which they quickly swapped to as more Vipers attacked them.

Thrust slung his Uzi over his shoulder and grabbed the AR9 one Viper had dropped in his death-throes and opened fire, cutting down two Vipers.

The four jetpack troopers had reached the entrances to the shopping centre car park. As Velocity moved in, now carrying an AK74 he’d picked up, he was hit in the chest by a burst of fire from a DShK machine-gun a SAW-Viper was manning in a gun nest across the car park from the entrance.

Thrust fired his jetpack up, lifted into the air and flew across to drop down behind the SAW-Viper. The Cobra trooper turned toward Thrust but the American shot him from close range before he could fully turn around.

Thrust moved to the DShK and took hold of the weapon, turning it toward the nearest Adder ballistic missile vehicle. He opened fire, stitching 12.7mm rounds across the vehicle’s ‘White Heat’ missiles. The bullets punctured the missile’s body and hit the fuel tanks. The missile exploded, destroying the Adder vehicle.

Thrust promptly opened fire on the nearest Stinger jeep, the bullets ripping through the four wheel-drive’s missile rack, cab and engine block.

As he kept up the fire, the gun’s belt allowing him to keep blazing away, Ramjet used his jetpack to jump across the car park and land next to an ASP gun pod. He pulled up the protective roll-cage and dragged out the Cobra trooper inside. The British Space Force trooper shot the Cobra and climbed awkwardly into the ASP’s cockpit. He lowered the gun barrels of the mobile AA pod and opened fire with the 40mm guns, blazing fire into more of the ten Adders on site and into a pair of the Stinger jeeps and another ASP pod.

As Thrust and Ramjet went to work shooting the Cobra encampment to pieces, Velocity found the camp’s radio tent and gunned down the Tele-Vipers inside before proceeding to smash the radios. Ballistic had found the arsenal tent, holding the Cobras’ weapons. He promptly went to work, setting up some of the C4 charges inside the tent before darting outside and jet-jumping away before the arsenal exploded in a huge explosion.

It took the Space Force squad only ten minutes to reduce the Cobra camp to nothing more than burning wreckage.

The four men gathered back at the entrance to the car park. Thrust activated his radio.

“Alpha 1-6 to Alpha 2, we are proceeding to LZ One for extraction.”

“Alpha 2, acknowledged.”

The Space Force squad fired off their jetpacks one last time and flew a short distance across the town to a large public square in the centre of town and landed near the statue of St. Barbara in the square’s middle.

The Z Force Tomahawk sent to extract them came in low and fast, pivoting in mid-air before dropping toward them to land with the open rear ramp facing them. The four soldiers ran aboard and the loadmaster shouted to the pilot to lift off once they were all on board. The Tomahawk lifted off and sped west at high speed and low altitude to clear the town, before slowing down as it climbed to a safer height to exfiltrate the country.

Their Tomahawk touched down nearly two hours later just as a second Tomahawk arrived at the Natangan airfield Action Force had taken over. As Thrust led his men off the helicopter, he saw four SAS Force troopers climbing from the other helicopter. The American immediately led his squad over to the commandos.

“So, how’d it go?” Thrust asked Quickfire.

“Fine,” the German replied. “In, blew everything up, out. No sweat. Bodycount even got to add a few more Vipers and a pair of SAW-Vipers to his tally as he covered us.”

The British soldier said nothing in response to the comment, but Thrust noted his M16’s barrel was still steaming slightly as it cooled down.

“How’d you guys do?” asked Boonie, the New Zealander.

“In, blew everything up, out. No sweat,” Thrust replied in a bad impersonation of Quickfire’s accent. “Used the Cobras’ own ASP and a DShK to shoot the place up. Racked up our own impressive body-count.”

“Nice one,” Boonie replied. “That’s two sites destroyed then.”

“Right,” Thrust said. “It’s up to the wing-wipers in the fast jets and your paratrooper buddies tomorrow night, now.”

That afternoon
Natangan Air Force Base, Natangaville

Sky Raider was leading a briefing for several of his pilots in one of the ready rooms used by the new Natangan Air Force.

“Okay, here’s the first piece of bad news,” Sky Raider began. “Since the show our jetpack squad and the SAS Force commandos put on, Cobra’s had at least six Firebats on patrol over the Commonwealth at all times. Captain Bloodhound and Lieutenant Orion’s recon teams have been having fun playing hide-and-seek evading them and patrols by Mamba helicopters. For this reason Hornet and Shar will be escorting the Hercules carrying the airborne spearhead team with a full-on load out of Sparrows and Sidewinders. Afterburner and Divebomb will fly escort for the Skystriker strike package. We’ll fit the X-30s with dual-mount pylons and load you up with six Sparrows each and a pair of Sidewinders.”

The four Conquest X-30 pilots nodded at the orders.

“The Skystrikers,” Sky Raider went on, “will carry out the raid on the Imp site. Moondancer will fly lead, with Tornado as his wingman. Hot Jets will fly in the third bird with Griffin in four. Hot Jets and Griffin, your job is to kill the Stingers on site. Your birds will be loaded with the new PGM-33s we received from Special Weapons Force. It won’t be any good trying to use HARMs on the Stingers, their missiles are IR guided, no radar for the HARMs to lock on to.”

Sky Raider looked around at the pilots and the radar intercept officers of the Skystrikers. All were intent on his words.

“Three and Four will be loaded out with a pair of Sidewinders each for self-defence, ECM pods to jam the air-search radar Cobra’s got on site and four PGM-33s apiece. We didn’t bring enough to load you out with more, sorry, guys,” Sky Raider explained.

Griffin put his hand up, “Question, boss.” His Swedish accent was a contrast with Sky Raider’s Ohioan accent.

“Shoot,” Sky Raider replied.

“We’re using the 33s to hit the Stingers, what about the ASPs we know they’ve got on site?”

Sky Raider pulled a face that clearly communicated the fact he wished Griffin hadn’t asked that question.

“Basically, you’re just going to have to try and avoid the ASPs.” Sky Raider saw the pilots exchange looks that clearly indicated they weren’t impressed with that response. “I’m sorry, but the simple fact is, we just don’t have enough of the PGM-33 missiles to load you out with more, like I said, or to load out further aircraft. The other option would be to load out a pair of Skystrikers with Mavericks and taking out the ASPs with them. Doing that, however, would mean two things: one, risking another pair of aircraft in a hostile environment and two, having less Mavericks around to plink HISS tanks, STUNs and whatever else with.”

Sky Raider could tell that the pilots didn’t look entirely convinced.

“The other reason is you four are the best Skystriker attack pilots we’ve got. The rest of the squadron are air-to-air pilots, you all know that. Some of them have had attack training, but the fact is, Moondancer and Hot Jets were the first qualified to fly strike missions in the Skystriker and they trained Griffin and Tornado. You guys are the best. We need the best to do this.”

Sky Raider could see that this naked appeal to their egos, always big in fighter pilots, bigger still in Space Force’s elite pilots, seemed to have worked.

Sky Raider continued the briefing, explaining that the lead pair of Skystrikers would carry Rockeye cluster bombs to destroy the Imps before detailing the route, time on target and time at the refuelling tanker which would meet them at the border and their exfiltration routes as well as the safe lying-up points in the event one of the fighters was shot down. There were no further questions or comments.

20:00 Hours, local
That night

The six Space Force fighters of Alpha flight lifted off first with the two Conquest X-30s and the Hercules of Bravo flight following.

The six fighters headed southeast toward the Imp missile site. Moondancer led the way in his Skystriker, with Tornado off his right wing, trailing slightly behind, whilst Afterburner was flying off to the left further out in the escort position.

Moondancer, former fighter pilot in the Middle East and one-time NASA astronaut, had to admit after flying Triad space-planes and Cosmic Cruisers again, it was odd to be back in the cockpit of a jet fighter. After the loss of Space Force’s orbital station in 1986, the unit had transitioned to a more conventional role, emphasising the Skystriker over the Triads and Cosmic Cruisers as they were mostly mothballed, only used for maintenance flights to Action Force’s recon and communications satellites. Then, in 1988, they’d begun ramping up space-flight capability once more after Cobra had launched a spacecraft from Cobra Island and engaged the GI Joe space shuttle in battle. A new Space Force station was under construction, but Sky Raider had shanghaied Moondancer and Hot Jets away from supply flights to the station when news of this mission had come in. He insisted both were more important as fighter pilots right now.

The flight toward the target area was uneventful, with his radar intercept officer reporting that a Firebat flight group was several miles east of them, but no danger.

“Ten miles to target,” Rascal finally announced over the intercom.

“Roger,” Moondancer switched to the flight group’s tactical frequency. “Flight, Lead. Ten miles to target. Three and Four, you’re in first.”

“Three,” Hot Jets replied. His Russian accent was even stronger over the radio than Moondancer’s Arabic accent.

The two trailing Skystrikers now accelerated past their comrades and headed toward the target encampment.

“Griffin, you want to go in first?” Hot Jets asked over the radio. “We need someone to bait them into firing to give us targets.”

Before Griffin could reply, someone else cut in. “I’ll do it, just make sure you cover my ass,” Afterburner said.

Her Conquest X-30 shot forward before diving toward the encampment.

Hot Jets swore under his breath in Russian before following her in toward the camp.

“Don’t worry, boss,” his back-seater said. “I’m on it.”

On the ground, an alert klaxon was sounding as Cobra forces rushed toward the Stinger jeeps and the ASP gun pods as the fighters screamed toward them.

Seconds later, the first Stinger opened fire, two of it’s surface-to-air missiles screaming off the launch rails, roaring upward trailing a two-foot long exhaust flame.

“Target locked,” Hot Jets heard the RIO announce. “Missile away.”

The PGM-33 missile dropped off the launch rail, falling six feet before its rocket engine kicked in and sent it screaming past the fighter, before the radar intercept officer activated its camera and steered it toward the jeep.

Afterburner fired off a salvo of decoy flares and pulled her jet out of its dive, the forward-swept wing fighter easily out-flying the missiles. Both SAMs self-destructed in the cloud of flares.

“Missile is locked on,” Cyclops reported. “Solid track.”

An explosion visible on the ground signified the death of the air-defence vehicle.

“SAMs,” Cyclops reported calmly. “Another Stinger just launched, firing on us.”

Hot Jets steered the fighter away from the encampment before firing off flares. “You got it?” he asked over the intercom.

“I got it,” Cyclops answered. “Give me five seconds of level flight.”

[Sundance]

Hot Jets rolled out wings-level once more and the RIO announced, “Missile away.”

The second PGM-33 was flying away from the Cobra camp, but once the rocket motor fired off, Cyclops used his radio link to steer the missile around and locked it into its terminal dive on the second Stinger jeep.

“Two down,” Cyclops reported. His codename had been given to him by a fellow officer in the RAF, owing to his singular focus on his job even under fire.

Afterburner’s Conquest X-30 screamed back across the camp, provoking two more Stingers into firing off two missiles each, even as the ASP batteries began firing.

“Two targets locked on,” Cyclops reported. “Launching one… stand by… launching two… Two away.”

The next two Stinger jeeps were wiped out seconds later, whilst Afterburner evaded the missiles with another string of flares and a few radical turns.

“Four, this is Cyclops,” the RIO called over the radio. “We’re out of 33s, it’s up to you now.”

“Four copies, three. Rolling in.”

Hot Jets looped back across the camp, flying fast and low to try to attract more SAMs. The ASP batteries fired at him, tracers lighting a path across the night sky.

Seconds later, two of the ASPs were destroyed, just as one of the last two Stingers opened fire at Hot Jets.

The Russian pilot calmly fired off flares, swept his fighter’s wings back and shoved his throttle forward. The Skystriker outpaced the missiles, which self-destructed.

Griffin’s back-seater took out the Stinger jeep with a PGM-33 before launching the last of the TV-guided missiles as the last Stinger opened fire.

“Lead, this four,” Griffin announced. “Stingers are down. It’s your turn now.”

Moondancer acknowledged the message, before steering his Skystriker in a speed run across the camp, Rascal dropping the two Rockeye canisters as the jet passed overhead.

Both canisters split open, scattering the 247 Mk 118 bomblets across the camp. Each 600g bomblet hit the ground or a target vehicle and detonated, firing their shaped-charge high-explosive warhead. A series of explosions rippled across the camp before larger secondary explosions lit the night sky as the bomblets destroyed the tanks of the fuelling trucks, the solid-rocket motors of the Imp missiles and the fuel tanks of the vehicles themselves.

Moondancer circled back toward where Griffin and Hot Jets were now holding position in small oval-pattern flights as Tornado flew his Skystriker across the camp from a perpendicular approach, dropping his CBU-100s. The rest of the camp was swallowed by smoke, fire and a large dust-cloud.

“Good job, flight. Let’s go home,” Moondancer said over his radio.

“Oh, damn,” Rascal cursed over the intercom. “Airborne air-search radar. Twenty miles, six o’clock high.”

“Five, Six, We have airborne contacts on our six,” Moondancer reported. “Give us cover.”

“Five’s on it,” Afterburner announced. She quickly reversed course and sped east, Divebomb following behind.

“Flight, lead, accelerate. Let’s get out of here before the Cobras arrive.”

The four Skystrikers quickly raced away from the impending confrontation.

The two Conquest X-30s sped toward the Cobra fighters. Neither had their radar activated, instead they were homing in on the radar signals the Firebat was transmitting. The Firebat’s radar was illuminating its position like a searchlight and highlighting the other three planes in its group.

Afterburner checked her radar display, the Firebat’s radar was distinctly a short-range affair, and the two Space Force fighters were on the edge of detection range. The Firebats, however, were well inside the engagement envelope for the AIM-7M Sparrow missiles the two fighters carried.

Afterburner armed her missiles, locked on to the first of the four Firebats and then keyed her mike.

“Alpha Five, Fox One with two.” She hit her firing trigger and launched two missiles. Working quickly, she switched to another target and fired off a second pair of Sparrows.

The missiles barely had time to accelerate to their maximum speed of Mach 4 before they used their systems to home in on the Firebats, blotting both from the sky before the pilots could react.

The two AVACs flying the second pair of Firebats immediately fired off chaff and flares and went evasive.

“Six, you have the lead. Knock ‘em down, buddy,” Afterburner radioed to her Spanish wing-mate.

“Roger, I have the lead.” Divebomb quickly locked on to the first of the Firebats and launched a pair of Sparrows.

The Firebat’s AVAC pilot threw the compact aircraft into another radical manoeuvre, firing off more chaff, but the Sparrow missiles weren’t fooled by the chaff and detonated their high explosive warheads, shredding the fighter’s fuselage.

Divebomb activated his own radar, now unable to use the Firebat’s radar to lock on to its wingman and locked up the final Firebat before firing another pair of Sparrows.

This Firebat simply turned tail and ran, but the supersonic missiles ran the fighter down and destroyed it.

As Divebomb turned back toward the Natangan border, he executed a victory roll. “Now that’s the kind of dogfight I like,” he said to Afterburner over the radio.

Smiling behind her oxygen mask, Afterburner replied, “Try not to pat yourself on the back too hard, mate. Let’s get back to base and paint those new kill-marks on, eh?”

“You got it, Afterburner,” Divebomb replied. “You have the lead.”

December 7th 1990. 14:35
The Commonwealth/Sudan border

Captain Bloodhound and his recon team were hidden from the sky by a large camo net draped over their Land Rover jeep on poles. They’d been lurking on the border for the past three hours after spotting a flight of four Condor bombers taking off.

Lying on the scrub ground, Bloodhound was watching another flight of aircraft lifting off as Vapour, next to him, scribbled notes on a pad.

“Another group of four Rattlers,” Bloodhound muttered to Vapour. His fellow Englishman nodded.

Behind them, Wheel-spin, their driver, was leaning against the Land Rover with his hat over his eyes, dozing. Night Owl, the team’s communications specialist, was sat cross-legged next to his radio set, idly tapping his fingers on his leg in a rhythm of four beats. Spanners, one of the team’s two mechanics was tinkering with the night-vision goggles used by the team’s night assault specialist Cat’s Eye. Cat’s Eye himself was sat next to the mechanic picking at his nails with his combat knife. The team’s final member, Breakdown, was sat next to a backpack radar unit the team had been issued, finishing some repairs to the unit.

“That’s five flight groups we’ve seen in the last four hours,” Vapour reported to Bloodhound sotto voce. “Three of Condors and two of Rattlers.”

Bloodhound nodded, “And that’s not counting the three Firebat patrols we evaded earlier or the Mambas we saw.”

Bloodhound shifted position. “How’s that radar unit?” he asked Breakdown.

“Fine, boss,” the Spaniard replied. “I fixed it with no trouble.”

“Good, run a ten second sweep and see if anything’s out there.”

Breakdown activated the radar set and the small grey dish atop the bronze-coloured set rotated twice before the mechanic shut it off.

“Four contacts, heading south-south-east.”

“That’s the Rattlers.” Vapour looked at Bloodhound as Night Owl, Cat’s Eye and Spanners turned their attention to their squad leader.

“Once they’re past, we move out. We’re going across the border. This is the best lead we’ve had on a Cobra airfield in two days.”

Cat’s Eye slapped Wheel-spin on the ankle, “Wake up, pal. We’re moving out.”

Wheel-spin pushed his hat back from his face. “Good. I was almost asleep for real there.”

In a few minutes, the team had packed what gear they’d off-loaded back aboard their jeep, pulled down the camo net and were speeding north toward the border.

19:35 Local, that evening
Action Force Forward Base, Natanga

Eagle faced the team he’d assembled for the new mission. Alongside the veterans Quickfire and Sparrowhawk were Quickfire’s commando team; Boonie, Kukri and Bodycount and Captain Bulldog and his airborne spearhead team.

Bulldog’s group were a new unit in SAS Force, a specialist airborne spearhead to lead assault forces by acting effectively as pathfinders. They were, as many SAS Force troopers were, recruited from some of the best units around. Bulldog had served with distinction in the British Army’s Parachute Regiment before spending two years with the 22 SAS Regiment. As was typical for junior officers, he’d then rotated back to his old unit, where he would continue to serve until he could rejoin the SAS on cadre. Action Force, more specifically Eagle, had got to him first. Eagle had spotted him during a visit to the SAS regiment’s barracks and requested him just after his tour ended.

Bulldog’s lieutenant in the group was Stallion, a lieutenant Bulldog had worked with in the 2nd Battalion, the Parachute Regiment. Stallion had harboured ambitions of joining the SAS Regiment once he’d reached Captain’s rank, but Bulldog had recruited him to Action Force first.

The team also included Utah, an American paratrooper who’d joined Action Force in its early days in 1980 before SAS Force, Z Force and their brethren had been formed. The scandal of the Black Major’s theft of the Heavy Artillery Laser unit had led to a withdrawal of much American support for the nascent force, but Utah, a former member of the 75th Rangers had remained in Action Force, initially becoming part of the SAS Attack Trooper cadre. Bulldog and Stallion had identified him as a potential squad member and recruited him.

Hammer often worked with Utah; whilst the American was the squad’s support gunner, his Irish squad-mate was the group’s anti-tank specialist, carrying a LAW rocket launcher. Hammer had been recruited from the Irish Army’s elite Rangers Wing.

Warlock was one of the other squad members, a Gibraltar-born member of the British Army’s Royal Signals Corps, he’d been recruited because of his expertise with communications systems. His code-name derived from the fact his comrades claimed his skills bordered on the magical.

The final squad member was Lynx, the team’s recon specialist, a native of Alderney in the Channel Islands; he’d served with 3rd Battalion Parachute Regiment and at the International Long-Range Reconnaissance Patrol School in West Germany. Lynx was known for being one of the best ‘LURPS’ in 3 Para.

This would be the team’s first operation alongside Quickfire’s commando squad and only their second after they’d destroyed the Cobra missile battery. Eagle hoped the mission went well.

“Right you lot, listen up,” Eagle began. “Bloodhound’s mob’s located a major Cobra airstrip. We’re sending you in to neutralise the aircraft and the base’s supplies of weapons and fuel.”

“By ‘neutralise’, do you mean blow it up?” Bodycount interrupted.

Eagle glowered at the younger man before nodding, “Yes. Now, sergeant, keep your trap shut and I’ll fill you in.”

Eagle turned to a flip chart next to him at the front of the room inside the pre-fabricated building they were using. He flipped over the cover of the pad to reveal an overhead photo.

“Bloodhound’s gang spotted Cobra aircraft taking off whilst they were near the Sudanese border. They maintained their position under camo cover and spotted more aircraft coming in from Sudan. They then crossed the Sudanese border, headed north and scouted around until they located the base. They called it in and Lightning re-tasked one of his UAVs to cover the base. We’ve confirmed it’s a custom built strip with a fuel storage area, weapons stores and their entire squadron of Condor Z25s present in addition to a squadron of Rattlers, several Mambas, Trouble Bubbles and a squadron of Firebats.”

Eagle paused to make sure everyone was paying attention, which they were.

“This base is vital to Cobra’s ongoing war efforts since it houses their principal bomber aircraft and a squadron of close-air support jets and one of their air superiority fighters. It’s imperative it’s wiped out so we can begin operations in the Commonwealth.”

[Sundance]

“What about the rest of their jets?” Bulldog cut in. “Quarrel was reporting two squadrons each of Rattlers and Firebats besides Hurricanes and helicopters.”

“We’re still looking for them,” Eagle answered. “Space Force’s Skystrikers and Conquests have taken out some of Cobra’s fighters, however. Since we fragged their ballistic missile sites, especially the one the Skystrikers bombed, Cobra’s been maintaining air patrols over the Commonwealth and our fly-boys have destroyed several of them.”

Eagle flipped to the next page, revealing an annotated version of the previous photo, with labels pointing to the weapons stores, fuel tanks, parked aircraft, air traffic control building and other features.

“Your principal objectives are to destroy the weapons and fuel stores, the Condors, the Rattlers and the other aircraft in that order. You’ll be flown in by two Tomahawks with four Hawks providing escort. You’ll be dropped off five miles from the target, tab in to the airfield, plant charges, tab back out and detonate before being retrieved. The Hawks and Tomahawks will withdraw to a staging post to wait for your extraction signal.”

“Any support from Bloodhound’s group, sir?” Kukri asked.

“No, they’ve withdrawn and will be providing support to the helicopters at the staging post. You will be able to call the Hawks for air support should you need it, however. This mission is supposed to be covert. The UN authorised the operation out here, but they only cleared us to operate within Natanga for basing and the Commonwealth for combat. We’re not cleared to enter Sudan. The fact they’ve got a civil war and a famine going on will distract their military long enough for this op,” Eagle explained.

Bodycount put his hand up, like a school-kid.

Eagle sighed, “Yes, sergeant?”

Bodycount stood and snapped to attention, “Sir, I volunteer to destroy this airfield single handed. Put me in a Recon Jeep and drop me off a mile from that airstrip with det packs and I’ll take it out myself. You can write me off as a rogue operative and kick my ass back to Britain, sir.”

Eagle stared at him in amazement, “You’re willing to toss your career like that?”

“Yes sir, for the sake of the force, sir.”

For a moment no one spoke, then Eagle said, “Well, thanks for that, Bodycount. Apparently no one else is ready to throw their career away like you. But it’s not necessary, I’ve spoken with the Commander and he’s authorised us to execute the mission as I’ve briefed it. Get your gear together and get ready to move out. Wheels up at 21:00. Dismissed.”

21:00 Local

Evac, one of Z Force’s Tomahawk pilots, watched as Quickfire, his commandos and Sparrowhawk, the Belgian HALO jumper, strode toward his helicopter. He smirked to himself as they walked in a line toward the Tomahawk’s side door, they did look pretty badass, he had to admit. Quickfire was dressed in his usual black and grey camo-pattern trousers and tunic with three grenades attached to a bandolier on his chest. He’d traded in his Thompson sub-machine gun for a HK G3 assault rifle. Black boots, gloves and a woollen hat completed his look. To his left was Boonie, the New Zealander, dressed in all-black utility clothes with a grey cap and goggles on his head and black boots and gloves. He carried an L1A1 SLR assault rifle. On Quickfire’s right was Kukri, the Ghurkha commando. Kukri – named after the fierce Nepalese warriors’ knife – wore black and grey camos with a black bush hat. Bodycount was on Kukri’s right, dressed as usual in plain black tunic and trousers, with grey gloves and a black helmet. Whilst Kukri carried a British L1A1 SLR, Bodycount was carrying an American M16 assault rifle with M203 grenade launcher attached and had an L14A1 ‘Carl Gustav’ anti-tank weapon slung over his shoulder. A grey bandolier of three grenades for his M203 completed his look. Sparrowhawk was at Boonie’s left, dressed in a grey and black camo pattern jumpsuit with black boots and gloves, wearing his normal parachuting helmet with the oxygen mask removed. He was carrying a Belgian FN FNC assault rifle in place of the M3 sub-machine gun he used to carry.

The commandos reached the helicopter and climbed aboard as Evac started up the engines. Rappel, his loadmaster and winchman signalled to Evac they were clear to take off and Evac lifted the helicopter off the deck and pivoted it around to head northeast as Fennec lifted off in the second Tomahawk, carrying the other squad.

22:00 Local
Inside Sudan

The two Z Force Tomahawks hovered low over the ground of Sudan’s southern border region, twenty miles inside the other nation. The eleven SAS Force commandos jumped from the helicopters, dropped to one knee, weapons at the ready, as the Tomahawks lifted back into the air, before pivoting and speeding away to the southeast.

Once the helicopters had left the area, Quickfire rose up and started to wave the troops forward when Bodycount suddenly raised his clenched left fist in the hand-signal for everyone to halt. Quickfire dropped back to one knee.

“What is it?” he whispered.

“Intruder,” Bodycount whispered back. “There’s someone about six feet in front of me.”

Several of the others pivoted toward the position Bodycount was indicating.

“Okay,” Quickfire said in a normal voice, “Come on out. We’ve got you covered.”

Even though the German commando couldn’t see what Bodycount was referring to, he trusted the sergeant.

Suddenly, a patch of grass and earth shifted and then rose upward to reveal a man under a ghillie suit. The soldier was holding his weapon pointing at the ground and carefully reached up to raise the night-vision goggles he wore.

“Don’t shoot. It’s me, Cat’s Eye,” the soldier said, before pulling a Velcro patch down on his uniform to reveal an SAS Force unit insignia.

Quickfire moved toward him, making sure to allow Bodycount to have a clear line of sight still.

“King to King’s Bishop Three,” he said, using one of the standard challenge-response phrases agreed upon for this operation.

“Rook to King’s Knight Three.” Cat’s Eye smiled as Quickfire nodded and the other commandos relaxed.

“What are you doing here?” Quickfire asked. “I thought your mob was supposed to have moved out to the helicopter staging area.”

“They did,” Cat’s Eye replied. “Bloodhound ordered me to remain behind and recon the airfield. We didn’t get closer than two miles to it. They left me behind as night fell, I moved in and scouted the base from a quarter mile out and then headed back here, sharpish.”

Bulldog moved up next to Quickfire. “What have you got then?” the captain asked.

Cat’s Eye removed a piece of paper from his pocket and crouched down. Quickfire and Bulldog moved to either side of him as Bodycount stood over them, shining a red-light torch on the paper.

“Airstrip’s surrounded by razor wire,” Cat’s Eye began. “They’ve got at least four Vipers on perimeter patrol as well as a pair on the north and south gates. Gates are nothing fancy, just a couple of barrels with a pole across the top. Guard force is at least thirty Vipers. They’re garrisoned over here,” he indicated a spot in the southeast corner. “North-west corner’s the fuel dump, nor’ east is the weapons stores. Four portable cabins here.” Cat’s Eye pointed to a spot in the east of the camp. “One’s a radio shack, one’s air traffic control, antenna and dish on top tell you which is which. Dunno what the other two are, possibly the bogs and the showers, the garrison’s tents like ours.”

The night-assault specialist indicated the western side of the airfield. “Condor squadron parks up here, with the Rattlers. Firebats are on the other side of the runway, along with the Mambas, Trouble Bubbles and a few FANGs.”

“What aren’t you telling us, Terry?” Bodycount asked, using the other man’s real first name. “I can tell you’re holding back on something.”

Cat’s Eye looked up at him with a sour glower, before continuing his briefing. “As well as the Vipers, the base is also defended by a mechanised force. Six HISS tanks, eight STUNs, four Stingers, four ASPs and four of those MSVs we’ve seen them employing here.”

“There you go,” Bodycount said.

The MSV was a relatively recent vehicle Action Force had encountered Cobra using. It consisted of a copy of the Mobile Missile System both Action Force and G.I. Joe employed and a copy of the same jeep known as the “VAMP” to the Joes and to SAS Force as the Panther. Some senior officers in Action Force believed MARS had obtained the designs for the VAMP/Panther and made a few modifications to it, just as they had produced the Stinger from the same basic jeep years before, which Action Force had procured under the name “Puma”.

“Besides the Vipers, they’ve got a small force of HISS drivers, Motor-Vipers, Stinger drivers and blue-shirts to man the vehicles besides Tele-Vipers and Techno-Vipers, as well as Aero-Vipers, Heli- and Gyro- Vipers, Air-Vipers and AVACs to fly the aircraft,” Cat’s Eye concluded.

“Are you coming with us?” Bulldog asked.

Cat’s Eye shook his head, “No, I’m heading to the staging post to link up with the rest of the team.” He saluted Bulldog. “Good luck, guys.”

With that, he turned and headed off.

Quickfire turned to Lynx. “Lynx, take point. Let’s move out.”

The commandos moved out, heading off toward their target.

It took the SAS Force team just over two hours to cover the five miles to the airbase from their drop-off point.

Once they got close to the base they found a small patch of scrubby bushes and a pair of hardy trees to hide behind as they took stock of the situation.

Each commando carried fifteen two-pound blocks of C4 in his backpack in a shaped charge. Quickfire directed the team to split into pairs once they’d entered the camp to plant their charges. Sparrowhawk would plant the charges on the radio shack and radar building alone. Before they penetrated the camp, they needed to get past the razor wire and the sentries. Kukri and Boonie sprinted across the scrub ground toward the camp, hurdled the razor-wire fence like Olympic champions and ran up behind the two Vipers who were walking the perimeter. Both drew their knives – a kukri in Kukri’s case and a US Marines KA-BAR knife for Boonie.

As they reached the Vipers, the pair grabbed the gunmen and sliced their throats. They then manhandled the corpses to the razor wire and dropped them across the fence, allowing the rest of the team unfettered access to the base.

Once the other commandos were inside the airstrip, they split up. Quickfire and Bodycount headed for the parked vehicles; Stallion and Warlock headed for the weapons store. Bulldog and Lynx headed for the fuel tanks. Utah and Hammer headed for the Condors. Boonie and Kukri headed for the Rattlers. The latter four would then fallback to the Firebats, Mambas, FANGs and Trouble Bubbles to plant charges on them.

The commandos moved quickly, placing the charges in vulnerable locations on the aircraft and vehicles. Utah planted the C4 on the Condors’ belly, near the bomb bay. Bodycount placed C4 charges on the HISS tanks next to their fuel tanks and treads. Quickfire planted charges on the ammo magazines of the ASPs. They planted their charges on the engine blocks at the rear of the Stingers and MSVs. They planted charges on the belly of the STUNs beneath their fuel cells.

Boonie planted his charges on the Rattlers behind their main rotary machine-gun underneath the pilot’s cockpit. Sparrowhawk planted charges on the walls of the radio shack and radar room, before carefully climbing exterior steps to the roof to plant charges on the radio antennae and the radar dish.

Stallion and Warlock planted charges on every armoured weapons locker they could find. Bulldog and Lynx planted their charges on the fuel tanks, the pumping equipment and on the small tankers that would carry fuel to the planes.

Quickfire was finishing planting the last charges when Bodycount hissed out a warning.

“Get down! Vipers!”

Quickfire ducked behind the vehicle as the two sentries walked past. He carefully pivoted on one foot to see four Vipers had come out of the tents on the eastern side of the camp and were now walking across the runway toward the parked Rattlers.

Utah and Hammer were holding their own positions in the shadow of the last Condor bomber. Boonie and Kukri were standing next to one of the Rattlers, trying to look nonchalant and not draw attention. They hadn’t had time to hide before the Vipers were too close.

One of the Vipers looked around, then flicked on the flashlight attached to his AR9 and shone it toward the Rattler. The beam of light illuminated the two SAS Force commandos.

“Oh, Sh…”

“ACTION FORCE!” the Viper screamed, drowning out Boonie’s curse.

The Viper opened fire, but the two commandos dove aside, evading the burst of fire.

The other three Vipers began hunting for the commandos, their lights on their rifles now turned on.

[Sundance]

Scant seconds later, an alarm klaxon began to sound across the base. One of the Vipers had clearly radioed in using his helmet’s tactical headset.

Quickfire keyed his radio. “All SAS Force troops, collapse back to the Rattlers, repeat, fall back to the Rattlers.”

More Cobra forces were running out of the tents like a nest of ants as the commandos began running toward the ground-attack jets.

Sporadic bursts of fire sounded as Boonie and Kukri fired at the Vipers, killing all four before moving through the parked rows of aircraft to a new position.

Sparrowhawk sprinted across the runway, ducked behind a Condor bomber and then keyed his radio.

“Sparrowhawk, firing charges. Fire in the hole!”

The Belgian paratrooper hit the detonator for his C4 charges and a pair of explosions lit the sky as the two buildings he’d targeted collapsed inwards, wreathed in fire.

The explosions caught the attention of the Cobra forces who were rushing to preset positions near the tents, not only the Vipers who formed the guard force, but the vehicle drivers, the pilots, the Tele-Vipers and the Techno-Vipers.

“This is Stallion,” Quickfire heard over his radio as he and Bodycount ran from the parked vehicles to the Rattlers. “Warlock and I are taking fire from the north side of the Cobras’ position. Someone give us some cover!”

“Roger that,” Utah replied. Seconds later the American’s M240 light machine gun opened up, spraying a long burst of around 30 rounds into the Cobras from behind a Condor bomber.

Return fire flashed out toward the Condors before abruptly stopping. Quickfire could hear a Cobra shouting, no doubt an Aero-Viper telling other troopers not to fire on the aircraft.

Utah, however, had no such problems and let loose with another sustained burst of fire.

Next to Quickfire, Bodycount said, “Let’s give the Cobras more to worry about.”

The German turned toward his British comrade, to see him pulling the detonator for his charges from his webbing gear. The commando mashed the detonator and half the Cobra vehicles promptly exploded. Quickfire ducked behind one of the Rattlers and crouched down. He pulled out his detonator and set off his charges, obliterating the remaining vehicles.

The pair made their way through the parked Rattlers just before a huge explosion sundered the night sky to the north.

“Ammo dumps destroyed,” Warlock reported over the radio.

Quickfire and Bodycount found Kukri and Boonie taking cover by the landing gear of a Rattler, firing toward the Cobras. Bodycount immediately started firing in support of his comrades as Quickfire keyed his radio.

“All teams, check in.”

“This is Sparrowhawk. I’m with Utah and Hammer. We’re hiding near a Condor and harassing the Cobras. We’re in the green.” The last comment meant the three soldiers were unharmed.

“Stallion, here. Warlock and I are at the south end of the Condors, ready to make a break for the Rattlers. We’re in the green.”

“Bulldog here. We’re making our way between the Rattlers. We’re in the green. Firing charges.”

Another explosion tore across the night as the fuel dump was destroyed.

Quickfire nodded to himself. So far, no one was hurt. That was good. What wasn’t so good was the fact the Cobras were alerted and that the commandos couldn’t detonate the charges on the Condors until Utah, Hammer and Sparrowhawk could clear away from them, nor could they destroy the Rattlers that were providing them with cover. There was also the issue of destroying the remaining Cobra aircraft, namely the Mambas, Firebats and other small aircraft.

Suddenly, Bodycount shouted, “Aw, nuts!”

Quickfire turned toward him but saw what had clearly prompted the commando’s curse. Four Heli-Vipers were running toward the FANGs parked south of the Cobras position.

Bodycount opened fire, picking off one of the Heli-Vipers. Boonie hit a second, before Bodycount hit a third. The last Heli-Viper dodged their fire before scrambling into the cockpit of one of the FANGs.

Bodycount dropped his M16 and unslung the Carl Gustav anti-tank weapon he carried. The soldier quickly shouldered the recoilless rifle, took aim and fired. The high-explosive shell flashed out, with a bright back-blast illuminating the commandos’ position beneath the Rattler. The anti-tank round hit the FANG as it lifted off, blasting the compact helicopter into scrap.

Bullets began pinging off the Rattler’s armoured airframe as the Cobras took aim at the commando team.

“Time to move,” Quickfire declared. The four soldiers quickly grabbed their gear and hotfooted it to another position.

“Oh, great,” Kukri commented. “They’re setting up mortars!”

Sure enough, Quickfire could see several Vipers manhandling mortar tubes into position.

He keyed his radio. “Warlock, call in the Hawks, fast!”

“I already did!”

Quickfire switched his radio to the channel used by the SAS Force team and the helicopters.

“Quickfire to Chopper, report.”

“Quickfire, Chopper. We’re inbound hot. Two minutes. Stand by for fire support. Danger close.”

Bodycount fired another shell from the Carl Gustav recoilless rifle, this one striking the sandbags of the Cobras’ position, sending debris from the destroyed bags flying. 

Overhead, the four Hawks were speeding toward the airfield, the fires of the SAS Force team’s destruction of the fuel dump and ammo dump glowing brightly in their night-vision goggles. The four pilots split up as they arrived overhead.

Chopper activated his radio. “Commandos, this is Chopper, please confirm your location and targets.”

Bodycount’s voice came back a moment later. “Mate, watch this.”

There was a bright flash of light as a missile of some type flashed across the airfield and then a small explosion.

“The explosion is your target zone. Multiple Cobras with automatic weapons and mortars. The source of the missile is your friendlies. We are falling back east.”

“Roger that, Bodycount. Hawks, target that explosion and fire!”

All four Hawks opened fire with their 20mm cannon.

The SAS Force commandos were running away from the Rattlers as the air was filled with the roar of heavy gunfire, tracers flashing down from the sky like the wrath of an angry god.

There was some token effort by the Cobra force to return fire at the four single-seat helicopters from a pair of DShK machine-guns, but Chopper personally put a stop to that with one of his Hawk’s anti tank missiles.

Inside five minutes the Cobras’ nest was little more than a smoking hole in the ground.

The commandos promptly detonated the charges on the Condors and Rattlers as the Hawks departed the area. The team then rushed to finish the mission, planting charges on the remaining aircraft before vacating the area.

It had taken just under two hours, but now the Cobra airfield was out of operation and their air forces were severely compromised.

December 8th 1990, 10:00 local
Action Force Forward Base, Natanga

Skip, Eagle and Sky Raider were in one of the pre-fabricated cabins Action Force had added to their set-up at their base. They were in a videoconference with General Van Berg.

“Apparently a junior defence minister has contracted the Iron Grenadiers to remove Cobra from the Commonwealth,” Eagle was explaining to the NATO officer. “He contacted them from Kampala, shortly after the Commonwealth plane arrived, carrying the President and the others. He’s not talking to the President, he won’t admit what he’s offered Destro’s forces to pay for this, but we’ve confirmed their presence.”

Eagle punched a button on a control he’d been given by Jammer and the picture of Van Berg from Belgium was replaced on the screen by a view from one of the UAVs Lightning was operating.

The black-and-white footage showed a column of vehicles moving along a highway at speed. The vehicles were identifiable as Iron Grenadiers’ D.E.M.O.N.s and Razorbacks, accompanied by a number of smaller Evaders.

Eagle stopped the playback.

“That was recorded yesterday,” Skip put in. “This morning, we got this from the Chief of the Defence Staff here.”

Skip hit a second button and this time the screen the three commanders were looking at showed a group of D.E.M.O.N.s moving through a bombed-out town. The camera shifted view, to show a group of four A.G.P.s flying overhead, before a pair of Despoilers flew over much lower and faster. The camera panned back down to the street to show more D.E.M.O.N.s and several Razorbacks moving through the town’s streets with Iron Grenadiers moving alongside them. Some of the Iron Grenadiers were the standard infantry troops, in their black uniforms with red and gold trim. Some wore the grey and red uniform of the elite troopers, carrying large assault rifles. Some wore the grey uniform with gold trim of the heavy weapons specialists, carrying light machine guns and anti-tank weapons. Scattered among them were Iron Anvil paratroopers.

“This footage was filmed by a CTN news crew that’s survived the invasion and is hiding out with a loyalist group in Nicholasboro. They managed to record this and get the tape to the capital. It was broadcast to us by the CDS and his forces,” Skip continued. “The CDS has been in contact with President Kowombe who’s found that a junior defence minister contacted the Iron Grenadiers and hired them to stop Cobra. The minister’s been fired and the President is trying to find out what the guy promised them. Apparently, the leader of the Iron Grenadier force is someone called ‘General Mayhem’. I’d suggest starting a dossier on him.”

The general returned to the screen. “I’ll have British and French Intelligence look into it and ask the Americans and the Russians if they know the guy.”

“What are our rules of engagement, regarding the Grenadiers?” Eagle asked.

“The usual. Don’t shoot first.”

“We’re launching our first major ground offensive tomorrow,” Skip told the general. “We’re moving into Martinsville first thing in the morning.”

“Operation Cheetah is fully under way,” Eagle added.

Martinsville, Central African Commonwealth
10:00 local, next day

The Tomahawk helicopter sped low toward the Z-Force forward base on the edge of town. The helicopter dropped to touch down, its rotors still turning as ten Z Force infantrymen ran out to the helicopter from the building being used as the headquarters. They quickly boarded the helicopter, which lifted off and headed east.

On board the helicopter was a full crew of four: two Z Force air-gunners were manning the M134 miniguns on the door pintles, whilst a pilot and co-pilot were sat up front. Flying the Tomahawk was Whirl, one of the Dragonfly pilots, who was logging time in type to qualify as a Tomahawk pilot. Next to him as the pilot was a British woman, Daisy Flowers, codename ‘Rose’, who had been one of the British Army’s first female helicopter pilots before being recruited to Action Force.

Standing behind the two pilots was Quarrel; she was wearing a headset radio.

“Morning, gentlemen,” she began. “Can you all hear me?”

The infantry troops nodded.

“Sorry to brief you on the fly, as it were, but we’ve got a hot one. We’ve got a battle tank dead in the water, call sign Easy 2-2. You need to help Gaucho and Tracker get the tank moving again. They’re pinned down and taking fire from nearby buildings.”

As Quarrel spoke, she indicated the Mexican mechanic and Spanish sapper in the back of the helicopter.

“We’ve already sent a fire-team to help, but they’re pinned down as well. It’s up to you to hook up with them and get that tank moving.”

[Sundance]

Suddenly, the Tomahawk jerked right and dropped abruptly.

“Sorry!” shouted Whirl. “We’ve got an ASP unit up ahead, just tried to hit us. I’m going to drop you off here. We’re about a mile from the tank. You’ll have to make it the rest of the way on foot.”

Whirl brought the Tomahawk into hover and dropped toward a small car park next to a convenience store that had the front blown off. The Z Force troopers leaped from the helicopter and dropped to one knee, before the helicopter lifted back up and sped back toward the forward base.

Broadsword, a staff sergeant from the King’s Own Scottish Borderers, was leading the ten-man squad.

“Vanguard, take point!” Broadsword ordered. “Ares, Gladius, cover our six. Move out!”

Vanguard led the group off up the street; the Royal Marine was often point man in any group he was in.

The troopers were making good time up the street when a hail of gunfire erupted from a ruined apartment building to their right.

“Ambush!” Vanguard shouted. “Take cover!”

“Contact right! Contact right!” yelled Broadsword as he ducked behind a wrecked car.

The Z Force troopers returned fire.

“Get suppressing fire on that building!” Broadsword shouted. “We have to keep moving forward!”

Bullets flashed across the street as both the Z Force troops and Cobras tried to hit the enemy whilst avoiding being hit.

Tracker hurried up the street to Broadsword, carrying an FN MAG light machine gun. He dropped to a crouch next to the Scottish soldier.

“You want suppressing fire?” Tracker asked. “You got it.”

The Spaniard opened up with the MAG, firing a sustained burst that sent the Cobras ducking for cover.

“That building’s between us and the tank. We need to get in there and clear it out,” Broadsword said.

“Vanguard! Get us into the building! Move!”

The Marine led the way, charging across the street and kicking in the doors. Gladius, an Italian paratrooper, was close on his heels. They cut down a group of four Vipers charging them from the left, before ducking back as shots were fired from above.

The centre of the building was a massive hole from ceiling to basement. Cobras were on several levels and began firing down at the troopers as they charged in.

“Move out! We need to clear this building!” Broadsword ordered.

The Z Force troops began sweeping through the remains of the building, moving from room to room, clearing each room of Cobras.

“Broadsword, this is Ring-Tone, we’ve just got word there’s more Cobras moving in on the tank. Get there ASAP!”

“Roger that,” Broadsword answered the radio operator on his headset.

With the building finally cleared, the squad moved back down to the ground floor and headed back out into the street.

“This is Easy 2-2,we’re taking heavy fire here! Where are you guys?!”

“We’re en route! Hang on!” Broadsword radioed back.

The Z-Force troops sprinted up the street, Broadsword radioing to the command post as he did, asking for a position update.

“We’ve got you on UAV,” Skip replied. “The tank’s the other side of that car park on your right.”

The troops quickly made their way across the empty car park, charging through a shell hole in the wall. The tank was sitting in the middle of a pile of rubble; the top-mounted gun turret was swivelling back and forth, blazing away at the Cobras.

Dug in beside the immobilised tank were three Z-Force troopers, firing their assault rifles at the Cobras.

“Contacts to the north and flanking from the west,” Vanguard reported as he reached the tank.

“Hold the perimeter!” Broadsword replied, before keying his radio. “Easy 2-2, this is Broadsword, what’s your status?”

“The Cobras demolished half of the building on top of the tank, we’re immobilised and the main gun’s offline, but we’ve still got the machine gun.”

“Alright, sit tight, we’ll try and push the Cobras back.”

Broadsword ducked back to take cover behind the tank as one of the three Z-Force troopers scrambled back to him.

“I’m Bronco,” the soldier said to him. “Our squad leader was killed a block south east of here. We only got here a few minutes before you. The guys with me are Goliath and Viking.”

Broadsword nodded. “I’m Broadsword. Tracker and Gaucho are over there,” he pointed to where the Mexican engineer and Spanish sapper were unpacking tools and equipment next to one of the other bombed-out buildings. “The rest of my team are Vanguard, Ares, Gladius, Tagger, Devil, Giant, Cowboy, Brimstone and Manticore.”

The two men moved to firing positions as the infantry kept up their fire, driving back an advance by a group of HEAT-Vipers and SAW-Vipers.

“Broadsword, this is Command, you’ve got more hostiles assembling to the west of you.”

“Copy that, Command. Request air support fire mission.”

“That’s a negative, Broadsword. We’ve got an ID on two ASPs to your north. Until you can neutralise them, we won’t risk sending in choppers, over.”

Suddenly heavy fire erupted from a large six-storey building overlooking the tank. Broadsword ducked back before pulling out a compact pair of binoculars that he trained on the building. SAW-Vipers and HEAT-Vipers were visible in the windows.

“Command, we have Cobras taking over a six-storey building to our east. Better get a chopper over here whilst we take out those ASPs.”

Without waiting for a reply, Broadsword turned to the other troopers.

“Devil, find those ASP batteries and take em out so we can get some air support. Gladius, Giant, back him up!”

The three Z-Force infantrymen fell back toward a side street and then began running north. As they ran, Devil keyed his radio headset.

“Command, this is Devil,” he radioed in his Tasmanian accent. “Request directions toward those ASP units you spotted.”

“Stand by one.” There was a momentary pause and then, “Devil, take your next right and proceed north for five hundred metres before turning left.”

The Australian commando led the other two men through the turn and they picked up speed along the deserted street. Fighting apparently hadn’t reached this area, as most of the buildings were undamaged except for blown out windows.

The trio carefully made the left turn to see the ASP unit ahead of them, sitting in the intersection. Two Vipers were standing near a pile of three ammo crates, smoking cigarettes, whilst a Techno-Viper was perched on the rear of a Ferret parked near one of the buildings. The ASP suddenly traversed and started firing. Gladius glanced up as it fired.

“They’re trying to shoot down our UAV,” he whispered.

“Good, the noise’ll give us cover to approach,” Devil replied.

The three men moved up the street carefully, before firing; killing the three Cobras. The ASP operator didn’t see his colleagues being shot as he was still trying to shoot the UAV down.

Devil put his pack down and pulled out two C4 shaped charges. He darted to the back of the ASP and planted one on the top of the operator’s cage and one on the ammo magazine at the rear. He set the detonators to the ready position and then tossed a third charge toward the ammo crates.

The three soldiers fell back before Devil detonated the charges. The ASP was blown apart and so were the ammo crates.

“One ASP unit down,” Devil radioed on the command frequency. “Moving to the second.”

“Hey, can you believe it?” Giant asked, “This Ferret’s in one piece.”

“Cool, pile on and let’s go.” Giant took the controls of the ATV, whilst Gladius and Devil perched on the back.

“Command, this is Devil, we’re proceeding to second ASP battery, please provide steering. We’re currently heading east on appropriated Ferret vehicle.”

“Devil, this is Command, we have a visual on you. Proceed east to next intersection then head north. You want the third left and the ASP will be in front of you.”

“Copy that.”

The ATV sped along the street, before speeding around the corner and racing north. Devil counted the side-streets then shouted to Giant, “Left turn!”

The six-and-a-half foot tall soldier slew the Ferret around the corner and sure enough, the ASP was sitting twenty feet down the street.

“I’m arming the 20mm cannon,” Giant said before flicking two thumb switches on the handlebars. “Set, firing.”

The ATV shook as the first round flew from the side-mounted cannon. The shell hit the ASP’s side and detonated, denting the armour, but not destroying the assault systems pod.

“Keep your feet clear of the sides!” Giant called as the ASP began to traverse toward them. He hit another switch and the two laser-guided missiles were extended out on their launch rails. “Firing!”

The two missiles streaked down the street as the ASP lowered its cannons toward the Ferret. The resulting explosion obliterated the ASP, the ammo crates, four Cobras and another of the Cobra ATVs.

“Second ASP unit destroyed,” Devil radioed. “Air support is clear to engage.”

“Good job, Devil, now get back here ASAP.”

Back at the tank, Broadsword was kneeling behind the tank as Vanguard and Brimstone did what they could to dress wounds Tagger, Cowboy and Manticore had suffered.

“Broadsword calling Z Force air cover. Request close air support.”

“This is Sierra 4-7, Dragonfly with Hellfires and full gun-loads. Where do you need us?”

Broadsword read off a set of coordinates before adding, “Target is a six-storey structure north of our position. Heavy Cobra presence.”

“Roger that, we’re ninety seconds out.”

The Dragonfly was being flown by a South African pilot recently recruited to Action Force named Rooivalk. In the front seat was a Z-Force air gunner, part of the cadre of Z-Force troops who were trained to operate the guns on Dragonflies or to man the door-guns on Tomahawks.

“Ready, gunner?” Rooivalk asked as the attack helicopter sped low across the town.

“Five by five, pilot,” the gunner replied. “I’ll start off with the chain gun.”

“Copy.”

The Dragonfly sped toward the target building and the gunner armed his weapon. “Gun armed.”

“Stand by,” Rooivalk reduced speed and dropped in toward the building.

The six-storey structure was easy to identify, thanks to the muzzle flashes from the upper floors. Suddenly there were two brighter flashes streaking out from the building.

[Sundance]

“Anti-tank missiles,” the gunner reported.

“Feel free to start shooting,” Rooivalk commented.

“Firing.”

The 20mm six-barrel rotary machine gun roared like the devil’s own zipper, five hundred rounds of armour-piercing bullets ripped across the front of the building, shattering windows before shredding several of the Cobras.

The fire immediately drew the ire of the Cobra force. Several SAW-Vipers returned fire with their MARS-built MG7 light machine guns.

Rooivalk dodged the return fire as the gunner in the front seat lined up his next burst.

“Missiles!” Rooivalk shouted as a pair of HEAT-Vipers used their anti-tank weapons to fire at the attack helicopter.

Rooivalk evaded both missiles, dropping the helicopter beneath their flight-path. He keyed his radio.

“Command, Rooivalk. We’re taking heavy fire from the Cobra occupied building overlooking Easy 2-2. Request clearance for direct fire with 105 on target building, over.”

“Stand by, Rooivalk… Rooivalk, you are clear to fire.”

“Gunner, take them out.”

“Copy, pilot.”

The gunner armed the Dragonfly’s large 105mm cannon mounted on the port skid. “Set. Firing.”

The 105mm struck the building just where the sixth storey’s floor became the fifth’s ceiling. The explosion blew out the front of the top two floors, debris cascading down on to the street below and on to the fourth storey. Weapons fire from the Cobras immediately stopped.

“Switching to thermal scan, stand by,” the gunner reported. He activated the small thermal camera attached to the side of the helicopter. “Reading warm bodies moving around in there.”

“Give them a burst from the minigun,” Rooivalk replied.

The helicopter’s 20mm gun roared again.

“Scan’s clear.”

“Broadsword, this is Sierra 4-7, all targets destroyed. We’re RTB.”

“Roger that, Sierra. Great shooting. Broadsword out.”

The helicopter sped by overhead as Broadsword watched Tracker and Gaucho place shaped charges on the debris around tank.

“Isn’t that a bit dangerous?” he asked Tracker as the sapper moved clear.

“Nope. I know what I’m doing.”

Tracker fired the charges and the masonry was smashed into pebbles and dust. He turned to Broadsword and grinned broadly. “Now we finish the repairs and the tank is good to go.”

Gaucho and Tracker got to work as Broadsword’s radio crackled.

“Broadsword, this is Devil. We’re inbound with two captured Ferrets.”

“Roger that, Devil.” Broadsword switched channels on his radio. “All personnel, we have friendlies coming in aboard two captured Ferrets, do not fire on them.”

Moments later, the two Ferrets arrived at the side of the tank, passing the outer perimeter of the Z-Force unit’s position. The two all-terrain assault vehicles stopped next to Broadsword and Devil hopped off.

“We thought these might come in handy,” the Australian commented.

“You’re right, they will,” Broadsword answered. “We’ve got wounded.”

Devil saw his fellow Australian sitting with his helmet off and a bandage around his head. “What happened to you, Tagger?”

“Took a ding to me head from flying shrapnel, mate. I had to take me helmet off and I got clocked by a chunk of masonry. It’s not too bad, really.” Tagger pointed to Cowboy, who was lying next to him with half of one trouser-leg cut off and several dressings stuck to his leg. “Ol’ Cowboy’s in a worse state. He took three bullets through his leg and shrapnel damage too.”

The French paratrooper waved the comment away. “Is nothing,” he said in his accented English. “I get to field hospital, I be fine, oui?”

“He’s bloody riding on one them Ferrets back to base,” Broadsword said. “Brimstone was very sure you ain’t walking any where.”

“What about Manticore?” Giant asked. The German soldier was lying down, apparently unconscious.

“He’s asleep,” Broadsword replied. “Took two rounds to his right arm, but they went clean through with no major damage.”

Suddenly everyone’s radio crackled and a voice shouted, “Mayday, mayday, Sierra 6-1 is hit! We’re going down. Coordinates are 33-78, sector 7.”

A second later, as Broadsword pulled out his map with the sectors marked on it, another voice came over the radio.

“This is Lionheart. We’ve got a bird down in the city.  Sierra 6-1 is down. Say again, Sierra 6-1 is down. Tomahawk down, Tomahawk down.”

Broadsword keyed his radio. “Lionheart, Broadsword. We’re under a mile from those coordinates. You want us to get over there or what?”

“Stand by, Broadsword.” The Z-Force major went off the radio, so Broadsword turned toward Gaucho who was kneeling atop the tank looking at him.

“How long ‘til that thing’s ready to roll?”

Gaucho shrugged, “Five, maybe six minutes.”

“Broadsword, Lionheart. That’s a roger. We’ve got no closer units. Cobra’s pushed most of our forces back. You guys are about half a mile behind enemy lines now. You need to get there and secure the site until we can get another Tomahawk in to extract the wounded.”

Broadsword frowned as he heard that. “What was the Tomahawk doing behind the lines then?”

“Dropping off Quickfire’s commandos two miles from where it went down. They can’t get to the crash site; their mission is too critical. Check in when you are on site. Lionheart out.”

Broadsword gathered together the entire squad, including the tank crew, and briefed them on the situation.

“Vanguard, I want you and Devil to scrounge up some Cobra uniforms, take one of the Ferrets ahead of the rest of us to scout things out. We’re behind enemy lines and we don’t want to suddenly run into a group of HISS tanks with no warning, do we? Tracker will ride on the back of the second Ferret with Giant. You’re covering our six. The rest of us, except Cowboy will run alongside the tank.”

Broadsword turned to the Spanish tank commander. “Can you boys fit Cowboy inside the tank, Manny?”

The Spaniard, whose real name was Manuel Olivera, nodded. “Si, Broadsword. There’s space at the back we can sit him in.”

“Okay, we get moving as soon as the tank’s ready and our scouts have their disguises. Let’s move.”

Gaucho and Tracker finished the repairs to the tank which didn’t take long, as Devil set about piecing together a Viper’s uniform and Vanguard put together a ‘blue shirt’ Trooper’s uniform. Vanguard found a dead trooper who’d lost his legs before he’d died and took the corpse’s shirt, gloves and helmet, before finding another blue-shirt with intact legs and most of his head and torso missing. He managed to keep his stomach’s contents in place as he stripped the uniform off and pulled it on.

Devil took the trousers from a Viper with most of the top of his body missing, took the helmet and black sleeveless jacket from another Viper and then found a blue shirt from a third for the complete look. He didn’t bother with the faceplate for the helmet or the red gauntlets, deciding that the uniform was so bloody and dirty that the lack of faceplate and gloves would be easy to excuse.

The Z Force group set off with the two ersatz Cobras leading the way.

They were about half way to the crash-site when Vanguard spotted a group of Cobras further up the road.

“Broadsword, this is Vanguard, we’ve got a batch of Cobras heading in the same direction as us. Looks like a team sent to the crash site,” Vanguard radioed. “Two of them are Tele-Vipers.”

“Roger. You’re clear to engage.”

“Make sure you hit the Tele-Viper’s radio packs,” Vanguard called over his shoulder to Devil.

“No probs,” the Australian replied. The ATV sped down the street, passed the HEAT and SAW vipers lagging behind the rest, then Devil opened fire with his Steyr AUG assault rifle. The long burst of automatic fire ripped through the two Tele-Vipers, smashing their radio-packs as well as killing them. Devil swivelled on the back of the Ferret and kept firing, emptying the magazine into the group of Cobras.

Before any of the survivors could respond, the Z Force tank’s top turret opened fire, cutting down the remaining Cobras.

The Z Force group sped on past, Ares pausing to shoot a Frag-Viper as he dragged himself along on his belly toward a SAW-Viper’s MG7.

The group sped into the small square where the helicopter had crashed. Debris from the helicopter and the building it had hit on the way down littered the square, along with the remains of a stone statue that had been in the centre of the square.

The tank drew to a halt next to the main hulk of the Tomahawk. Broadsword began issuing orders to the infantry troopers as they paused to get their breath back.

“Devil, Vanguard, get that Cobra clobber off. Vanguard, you and me are going to get aboard the wreck and assess the condition of the crew. Ares, I want you, Gladius and Tagger to secure the eastern approach. Giant, Manticore, Brimstone, cover north. Devil, cover west with Bronco and Viking. Goliath you stay here with Tracker and Gaucho. We might need you to cover us or to help extricate the crew.”

The soldiers split up and moved out without any arguing.

“He’s a good NCO, isn’t he?” Gaucho commented to Tracker in Spanish as Broadsword ducked into the Tomahawk’s ruined interior.

Tracker nodded, “He ought to be,” he answered in Spanish. “Skip and Sergeant-Major Zero have been grooming him for promotion.”

The Mexican raised his eyebrows at that comment. Zero was the senior NCO in Z Force’s infantry corps and a notoriously tough to please man. His codename was reputed to refer to the fact he had zero tolerance for any guff from his men.

Vanguard tossed aside his Cobra clothing and pulled his own green Z-Force helmet back on before ducking into the helicopter.

“What have we got, sarge?” he asked Broadsword.

“One gunner’s KIA. This one’s unconscious and got broken legs,” Broadsword answered. “Help me check the flight crew.”

They moved to the cockpit area. “Oh, hell,” Broadsword muttered.

Vanguard nodded, “We ain’t getting these guys out,” he commented.

Both pilot and co-pilot were trapped by the smashed-in control consoles, pinned to their seat and with severe chest injuries.

Broadsword keyed his radio.

“Base, this is Broadsword. We’re at the crash site. Sierra 6-1 is a write-off. The bird’s a complete wreck. We’ve got one KIA and three seriously wounded. The flight crew are trapped in their seats with bad chest injuries and need an immediate medevac.”

“This is Skip, I copy. Stand by, we’re pressed here.” There was a pause.

“Damn, we’ve got no Tomahawks available for medevac,” Skip informed him. “Two birds are down for refuelling and rearming. We’ve got another four on close-air support taskings with the Dragonflies and one is out for repairs with a bent engine.”

‘Bent’, Broadsword knew, was a mechanic’s euphemism for needing repairs, which could be anything from minor tweaks to needing a full-rebuild.

“Don’t we have a Titan you could send?” Broadsword asked, referring to the Z Force transports.

[Sundance]

“I’m not risking an unarmed transport in enemy turf when we’ve lost an armed one.”

“Sir, these guys need medevac immediately, I don’t know how much longer they can survive without proper attention.”

The radio channel opened, but at first Skip didn’t answer, although there was a muted conversation going on in the background. Then Skip said, “Evac is en route, ETA is three minutes.”

The radio cut off and Broadsword and Vanguard exchanged glances. “Three minutes?” the Marine said.

Broadsword shrugged. Before he could say he heard someone outside swear in Spanish as gunfire erupted. Then he heard Tracker’s FN MAG firing, followed seconds later by the sound of the battle tank’s machine gun blazing away.

Broadsword moved to the open doorway of the Tomahawk and peeked out. Gaucho, Tracker and Goliath were behind the tank, using it for cover as bullets pinged off the armour.

“What do we got, Tracker?” Broadsword shouted.

“Cobras!” the sapper yelled back. “Lots of them!”

Broadsword looked to the north to see the ruined building the Tomahawk had hit was now home to several Cobra troopers firing at the tank.

Suddenly, an anti-tank missile flashed out and just missed the tank.

“Easy 2-2 is moving. Stand clear!” sounded over the radio. Tracker and Gaucho dived to the right, ducking behind the wreckage of the Tomahawk’s hull that lay on the ground. Goliath dived to the left and scrambled into the Tomahawk.

The battle tank moved rapidly backwards, still firing the smaller turret as two anti-tank missiles slammed into the ground where it had been.

The tank then sped even further back, much faster as grenades began landing in the square.

“Easy 2-2 to Broadsword. We’re pulling back out of the square; we’re taking too much fire. You’ve got Cobras to the north, east and west.”

“Roger that,” Broadsword replied. He switched to the infantry squad’s channel.

“All teams, collapse back to the crash site, we’re taking heavy fire from Cobras.”

Before anyone could reply, a new voice cut in.

“Broadsword, this is Victor 2-2, pop smoke to identify LZ and advise temperature of zone.”

Broadsword, Goliath and Vanguard exchanged confused looks.

“Who the hell is Victor 2-2?” Vanguard asked. “That’s not a call sign for any of the vehicles on the op.”

“Hell if I know,” Broadsword replied before keying his radio. “Victor 2-2, identify yourself.”

“Broadsword, I’m insulted you’ve forgotten me after the way you cursed me out over the test flight for the Trojan I put you through.”

“Brains?!” Broadsword exclaimed. “The Special Weps test pilot? What the hell is he doing here?”

“Getting our asses out of this mess, I hope,” Vanguard answered. He pulled a smoke marker grenade from his belt, pulled the pin and threw it out the side of the wrecked helicopter. Purple smoke started pouring up from the grenade into the sky.

“Victor 2-2, Broadsword, smoke popped. LZ is hot, I repeat, LZ is hot. We’re taking heavy fire from three sides.”

“Stand by,” Brains replied.

Broadsword knelt at the side of the helicopter as he heard the roar of engines overhead. The aircraft that flew over the buildings to the south was an odd looking beast. It resembled a small cargo plane, but with the engines in nacelles at the end of the wings, with what appeared to be prop blades. The aircraft suddenly slowed down, pivoting to a nose-up attitude, before the engine nacelles rotated to a vertical position, making the props now look like helicopter blades as they rotated, the aircraft then settled toward the ground, before a GAU-17 minigun in a chin turret opened fire, spraying the northern building where the Cobras were.

The Cobras in the east and west buildings started firing at the aircraft, before it pivoted around and sprayed them in turn.

The aircraft dropped next to the wrecked Tomahawk and Broadsword could now see it was painted predominantly white with grey flaps and ailerons on the wings, grey tail rudders and red and yellow ‘Action Force’ logos on the rudder and fuselage, as well as a larger SWF insignia on the tail.

The aircraft hovered a foot off the ground and a rear ramp lowered. Four Z Force medics charged out, each dressed in plain green jumpsuits with a white vest over the top, with a red cross on the chest, white helmet with a red cross on and carrying medical kits. They were followed by two Z Force combat firemen, carrying toolkits and a pair of infantrymen, who took up protective positions at the rear of the aircraft.

The lead medic reached the side of the helicopter and Broadsword stepped out to meet her.

“Triage, am I glad to see you. Have you been briefed?”

“Yes, I need to assess the gunner before we move him, then we’ll get to work on the pilots,” Triage replied.

The doctor directed two of the other medics to put the dead gunner on a stretcher and move him to the SWF aircraft as Triage knelt next to the gunner who was now recovering consciousness.

“Hold still,” Triage said firmly. “You’re badly injured.”

The gunner looked up at Broadsword. “How bad is it, man?”

Broadsword shrugged, “Better than the flight crew, mate.”

Triage looked at Broadsword with an annoyed expression before looking back at the patient. “Your legs are broken and you have mild concussion. These two medics will get you on board the V-22 for evacuation.”

Triage waved the two medics forward as she and the other medic, a black guy, moved to the cockpit.

Triage took one look at the pilots and then turned to the two fire fighters lurking at the rear of the wreck.

“Gentlemen, we’re going to need your skills here,” she said. “You’ll have to cut them free before I can properly assess them.”

Broadsword and Vanguard got out of the wreck as the tank rumbled back into the square. The rest of the infantrymen were standing around, looking tense, so Broadsword moved to the rear of the aircraft Triage had called a V-22. The Scotsman realised it must be the American tilt-rotor he had heard Special Weapons Force were testing.

Broadsword boarded the V-22 and moved passed the troop seats to the cockpit, in the pilot’s seat was Brian Baines, the former RAF test pilot turned SWF test pilot. His name had been easy to muddle up, leading to his codename ‘Brains’, which fit his role among the geniuses of SWF.

“Hey, Brains,” Broadsword greeted him. “What’s your fuel status?”

The pilot looked around at Broadsword, “Dougy-boy, nice to see you. We’re good for another ten, fifteen minutes. Why?”

“Could be a job of work to extract the pilots, mate,” Broadsword replied. “Triage just asked Inferno and Backdraft to cut them free.”

Brains frowned, “Damn, that bad, huh?”

Broadsword nodded before changing topic. “You guys going to be able to lift me and my squad out of here?”

Brains glanced at his co-pilot, who Broadsword didn’t know, “Sorry, Doug, but with four wounded on stretchers, plus the medics and firemen and our erstwhile guards, I doubt we’ll have the room.”

Broadsword nodded. “Can you at least take on our wounded? All walking wounded; well, hobbling in one case.”

Brains nodded, “How many?”

“Four.”

“No problem,” Brains replied. “That we can do.”

Switching topics again, Broadsword asked, “So what the hell are you doing with this flying toy out here?”

Brains smirked. “Flight testing, of course. Space Force needed some components for a bent Skystriker in a hurry. Me and Mister Little, here, flew the V-22 down because we figured we could get here faster than a regular transport. We’d just dropped off the components when we heard they needed some supplies at your forward base, so we said we’d take them up. Then,” Brains emphasised the last word, “We overheard your medevac request. I told Skip we’d do it. This baby’s got the speed and the manoeuvrability to pull off a mission like this.”

Broadsword grinned, “Well, if it counts for anything, you got my vote to buy these things. I didn’t know they were armed, though.”

“They’re not,” Little said, in a strong Texan accent. “Your nutty eggheads decided to test the idea of bolting on the turret from a Dragonfly for a few tests. We had to carry ammo for load-bearing reasons. That was the first time we’d used the turret.”

Broadsword’s grin widened. “Field tests are the best.”

Before Brains could answer, the sound of footsteps on the V-22’s floor made all three men turn. Two of the medics were carrying in one of the pilots.

“How is he?” Brains asked.

“Bad,” the lead medic answered. “Multiple crushed ribs, internal bleeding we think, spinal fractures. I could go on.”

Broadsword turned back to Brains. “I’ll get my wounded on board. See you back in Britain.”

“You bet, Doug.”

Broadsword walked back off the V-22 and activated his radio. “Cowboy and Manticore, get to the V-22, you’re getting a ride out. Everyone else, stay sharp.”

Manticore boarded the tilt-rotor as Broadsword watched Cowboy being helped down from the tank by the tank’s gunner and Brimstone. Brimstone had just stepped back off the aircraft when Triage and the other medic carried the other pilot on board.

Broadsword waved the infantry clear of the V-22 before the two infantrymen who’d been aboard ran back up the ramp. Then the tilt-rotor lifted up, pivoted and flew off, lowering its engines into plane configuration as it went.

Broadsword waved the troops together, then contacted the forward base.

“Broadsword to Base, Victor 2-2 is on route to you. Do you have orders for us?”

“Base to Broadsword, Victor 2-2 has been dispatched back to Air Ops HQ. You do have new orders. You are to proceed to sector 12, co-ordinates 66-42. We’ve got a force making a push there against some HISS II and Rage tanks. They could use your back up.”

“Roger that.” Broadsword looked at the rest of the troops. “War’s not over yet, boys. Let’s move it out.”

December 14th, 1990
Highway 4, northern Commonwealth.

The SAS Force convoy was speeding along Highway 4 from Saint Michaels to Peterton.

In the week since Action Force had assaulted Martinsville, they had succeeded in liberating that town and moving north to Saint Michaels and securing that town. As this recon group was heading toward Peterton, a larger Z Force battle group was heading south from Martinsville to Joshuaberg to secure that larger town.

Leading the convoy was a Battle Bike, a modified motorcycle armed with a pair of 9mm machine guns under the front fairing. Riding it was Prowl, the Fijian-born British SBS soldier who was SAS Force’s expert in reconnaissance.

Following slightly behind him was a Recon Jeep, the Action Force version of the American-built AWE Striker. The Recon Jeep was used by both Z Force and SAS Force and had been modified from the Striker to meet their requirements; improving the engine, brakes, suspension, radio set and the targeting unit for the 40mm cannon the vehicle typically carried. Driving the Recon Jeep was Swerve, a British SAS member, with Double-Tap the SAS Force pistol marksman alongside him.

The third vehicle in the convoy was a Wolverine, driven by Hunter. Like the Recon Jeep, the Wolverine was modified from its American origins, with improvements to the engine, armour and missile targeting system.

[Sundance]

Behind the Wolverine was a Puma Air Defence Jeep, the modified Action Force version of the MARS-built vehicle sold to Cobra as the Stinger jeep. The Puma had been upgraded by Action Force techs with similar enhancements to the Recon Jeep in terms of engine, brakes and so on, but also with a millimetre-wave radar unit built into the roof to enable the Puma’s four surface-to-air missile to use radar guidance or infra-red heat-seeking modes. Driving the Puma was Rev, the Polish commando. Alongside him was Major Warhorse, the British officer who Eagle had brought in three years ago to command the ever-expanding Attack Trooper cadre as well as to assist Eagle himself in commanding the entire SAS Force group. The Major had insisted on accompanying this recon group to evaluate the situation in Peterton himself.

The four vehicles were about twenty miles from Peterton when Prowl radioed over the group’s secure frequency.

“I see multiple vehicles ahead. Looks like small aircraft too.”

Hunter frowned behind the grey bandana he wore over his mouth and nose.

“Can you identify?” Warhorse radioed back.

“Stand by,” Prowl answered. “Looks like Razorbacks, DEMONs and a couple of Evaders.”

Hunter didn’t like the sound of that. The Iron Grenadiers had already caused a lot of trouble not only in Nicholasboro, but also in the town of Victoria in the east of the country near the Ugandan border.

“Oh, hell!” Prowl yelped into the radio. “They’re firing!”

“Go evasive! Break, break, break!” Warhorse shouted.

Hunter immediately cut his Wolverine to the left of the highway, zipping away from the other three vehicles and the road.

Missiles slammed down on the road from the Iron Grenadiers force. Prowl managed to avoid being hit by a pair of missiles from an Evader assault cycle.

The Recon Jeep leaped clear of the road on to the slightly lower ground south of the highway, dropping off the right side before two missiles from a Razorback blew a huge hole in the road.

“All vehicles, return fire!” Warhorse ordered.

Hunter immediately armed his missiles, flipped his targeting monocle into place and started looking for the targets. The new helmet-mounted sight was a recent innovation from the eggheads in Special Weapons Force. Hunter had tested it in a live-fire exercise at Action Force’s Stonebury range in northern England, but this was his first chance to field test it.

As the sighting system locked on to a DEMON, he heard a growling tone in his helmet’s earphones. A red square sat over the DEMON in the eyepiece, so Hunter hit the firing control on the steering column of the Wolverine.

A jet of compressed gases fired the first anti-tank missile clear of both the launcher box and the Wolverine, before its rocket motor ignited and the missile streaked away from the black vehicle. Hunter immediately gunned the engine and sped away from the launch point.

The missile screamed through the air and slammed straight into the DEMON’s armoured crew compartment. The high explosive warhead was too much for the bulletproof canopy, which shattered from the explosion, the resultant shrapnel killing the crew.

More missiles were slamming down around the SAS Force vehicles; Swerve and Double-Tap were returning fire with the Recon Jeep’s 40mm cannon.

Hunter had just locked on to one of the monstrously huge Razorbacks when a 40mm shell from the Recon Jeep landed squarely on the bubble-canopy weapons turret, smashing it and killing the Wild Boar inside before another 40mm shell blew off the front left wheels.

Hunter locked on to another DEMON instead and loosed off his second missile. This one struck the DEMON side-on as it executed a turn, blowing the vehicle off its tracked wheels and crippling it. Before Hunter could finish it off, 20mm cannon fire began stitching a line across the African veldt toward the Wolverine as a Despoiler screamed toward him, strafing the ground.

Hunter slid the Wolverine into a nearly ninety degree turn to avoid the line of fire, just before a missile streaked across the sky and obliterated the small single-seater aircraft.

Hunter had enough time to spot the Puma whipping by, its missile rack rotating to lock on to a second Despoiler, before he got a lock on tone from a Razorback. He immediately fired his missile before, slewing away to avoid the vehicle’s incoming cannon fire.

The missile struck the Razorback at the side of the hydraulic mechanism for raising the vehicle upward and broke its spine, leaving it in two pieces.

Hunter steered back toward the highway, looking for his next target. He was just in time to see Prowl firing at one of the Evaders, the 9mm bullets ripping into the open-sided vehicle, killing the Iron Grenadier driver.

“Command, this is Warhorse, we’re under attack from an Iron Grenadier battle group twenty miles west of Peterton. Request immediate close air support from any available aircraft.”

Hunter could see there were at least another six vehicles out there. Whilst he had another ten missiles to use, he was getting hard pressed to avoid the cannon fire from the vehicles and get a solid lock to launch his missiles. The Recon Jeep was facing the same problem.

At least it was until a pair of Razorbacks managed to coordinate their fire and drop shells close to the lightweight 4x4, flipping the vehicle over to crash down on its roll-cage before slamming back down on to its wheels.

Hunter immediately sped straight toward the offending Razorbacks and launched two missiles at both, scrapping the eight-wheeled behemoths in seconds.

The Puma fired another of its SAMs to shoot down the second Despoiler as Hunter sped across the highway toward the stricken Recon Jeep.

Cannon fire from two of the remaining DEMONs pinged off the Wolverine’s armour as Hunter slid the missile tank to a halt in front of the Recon Jeep, rotated his turret and unleashed another four missiles, destroying both DEMONs.

Hunter looked around at the battered Recon Jeep. He could see Swerve pulling himself clear of the vehicle before Double-Tap staggered out of a cloud of dust toward the black vehicle.

“You boys okay?” Hunter asked.

Double-Tap nodded, before wiping blood from his nose. “Battered and bruised, but alive,” the Irishman said.

Swerve spat blood and a tooth from his mouth and gingerly touched his black eye before saying anything.

“I’ll live,” was his only comment.

Before Hunter could reply, a pair of SAS Force Hawks screamed over the vehicles, firing their 20mm cannon. Two more DEMONs and a Razorback exploded from the helicopters’ strafing run as they split apart and looped back around.

The remaining Iron Grenadier vehicles disengaged and began speeding back down the highway to Peterton.

The Hawks let them go, flying over the ground vehicles with cheery waves from the pilots before they continued back toward Martinsville.

The Puma pulled up next to the Recon Jeep and Wolverine.

“Well done, lads,” Warhorse said as he got out. “We’re all alive, which is a good result.”

“Where’s Prowl?” Double-Tap asked as he ripped off a torn flap from his sleeve and used it to swab at his still-bleeding nose.

“I’m here,” the Fijian answered as he walked around the Wolverine, pushing his Battle Bike, which had a badly bent front wheel.

“Is the Recon Jeep mobile?” Hunter asked Swerve, who was gingerly probing at his mouth with one hand. The Afro-Briton shrugged before moving to sit in the driver’s seat. He tried starting it. The off-road vehicle refused to respond.

Warhorse shook his head. “We’re heading back to Saint Michaels. Lash the bike to the back of the Puma. Hitch the jeep to the Wolverine with its tow-cable. Prowl will have to sit on the Wolverine, but we’re heading back.”

The others didn’t argue, merely getting to work as Warhorse got on the radio to Eagle at the Saint Michaels’ command post to report in.

December 24th, 1990
Durham, Central African Commonwealth.

It was half past ten at night, the day before Christmas. Durham was a small town in the western half of the Commonwealth. It was barely worth the name ‘town’, harbouring a population smaller than some British villages. Nonetheless, Cobra had occupied the town with a small force. The garrison comprised two HISS II tanks, two Rage tanks, a single MSV and a pair of STUNs with a grab-bag of Vipers to support the vehicles, including a small squad of HEAT and SAW Vipers to provide fire-support, a trio of Tele-Vipers for communications, four Techno-Vipers to maintain the vehicles and a mixed force of Vipers, blue-shirted Troopers and three Officers rounding out the force.

An Action Force C-130 left Natanga at 22:15 hours and was over Durham in fifteen minutes. On board, a small SAS Force strike team checked their parachutes and then leaped from the transport.

The descent and landing outside the town went off without incident. The commandos quickly buried their chutes and then moved in toward the town.

Boonie led the group, followed by Kukri. Behind them came Firepower, SAS Force’s French anti-armour specialist; Longshot and Bolt the SAS Force’s sniper pair; Quickfire and Double-Tap with Bodycount bringing up the rear.

At the edge of town was one of the few buildings higher than two storeys, an apartment block that rose five storeys high. Intelligence from the resistance had confirmed the building was abandoned after Cobra had blown a huge chunk out of the frontage of the fourth floor. An apartment had been used by the resistance as a sniper perch and a Rage tank had ended their threat by shooting the building.

Longshot picked the lock on the fire exit at the side of the building before heading in, followed by Bolt. The pair headed up the stairs to the fifth floor whilst the rest of the SAS Force team moved on across the street.

On the fifth floor, Longshot picked the lock to one of the apartments and the snipers moved in. They worked quickly to set up the three sniper rifles they carried. Both snipers had Accuracy International ‘Arctic Warfare’ L96 sniper rifles, whilst Longshot was also carrying the Barret ‘Light 50’ L86. Once they had the rifles set up on a wooden chest of drawers, stabilised and ready to fire, Longshot began setting up a tripod-mounted sight and a pair of binoculars, whilst Bolt took a reel of fishing line out of his ruck along with two empty tins, which he filled with debris from the floor. He then carefully set up a tripwire with the fishing line and one of the tins at the doorway and another in the hall.

Longshot keyed his radio. “Snipers in position.”

“Roger that,” Quickfire replied.

Bolt stood next to the chest of drawers, peering down the scope of his L96. Longshot stood next to him, watching through the tripod sight as the team advanced.

Quickfire took the lead, trotting up the street followed by Boonie and Kukri. Firepower followed them. Bodycount looked back at the apartment and made a rude gesture at the snipers before following.

The strike team moved toward a building that had been identified as the Cobra command post by aerial recon from the UAV that had over-flown the town and from the information the resistance forces had proved. The single storey structure was the local mayor’s office.

The strike team halted outside the building and Quickfire silently signalled to Double-Tap and Bodycount. Bodycount slung his M16 assault rifle over his left shoulder and unstrapped the Uzi on his chest. Like the assault rifle, the Uzi was fitted with a suppressor. Double-Tap stuck with the suppressed Browning High Power he was carrying.

Boonie opened the office door and Bodycount slipped past him and inside.

The door led to a lobby that was empty. Bodycount moved forward silently, with Double-Tap close on his heels.

The carefully stepped over a low gate at the back of the reception area into the open-plan office area behind it. No one was around.

A door at the rear of the room was standing open. The two commandos moved toward it. They could now hear a conversation.

Bodycount held his hand up to stop Double-Tap as he crept to the door.

“Alors, je lui ai dit, 'Eh bien, tu laissez-moi tu baiser dans le cul?' et elle dit: 'Non, je n'aime pas ça dans mon cul'. Alors, j'ai dit: 'Tu ne serez pas sucer, tu n'aurez pas le prendre dans le cul, putain, salope, qu'est ce que je fais ici?'” said the voice from inside the office.

[Sundance]

“Que voulait-elle dire à ce sujet?” asked a second voice.

Before the first speaker could reply, Bodycount swung around the door, spotted two Cobra Tele-Vipers sitting with their feet up on the desk between them and opened fire.

The first three-shot burst hit the Tele-Viper facing toward the door in the face. The second Tele-Viper started to turn toward Bodycount as he pivoted on one foot and fired his second burst, catching the Tele-Viper in the neck. The bullets ripped apart the Cobra’s neck, severing the jugular and the carotid. Blood sprayed from the severed neck like a hose, splattering the wall. Bodycount ignored the Tele-Viper as he crashed to the floor, flailing at his ruined neck. Instead, the commando stepped over the body and pulled a thermite grenade from his webbing and set it next to the radio set on the desk.

Double-Tap walked into the office as Bodycount rigged the grenade to destroy the radio set.

“Jesus, dude, what did you do, slice his neck open?” Double-Tap asked quietly, looking at the still twitching and gasping Tele-Viper.

“No, shot him as he was turning. Caught him in the neck.” Bodycount pulled the pin on the grenade and said, “Move out.”

Double-Tap looked down at the dying Tele-Viper and then shot him once between the eyes.

The pair hurried out of the office as the thermite grenade detonated, destroying the radio set.

The two commandos joined the rest of the team as Longshot’s voice came over the radio.

“Four foot mobiles heading your way. Two Vipers, one SAW-Viper and a Tele-Viper. They’re on Street 2.”

To make things simple, the commandos had drawn up a street plan of Durham and numbered the streets. Street 2 was parallel to street 1 where they were.

“They’re approaching the junction between 2 and 3. Looks like… yep, they’re coming your way. Must be the mobile patrol the locals reported.”

Quickfire signalled to the rest of the team to move out before whispering, “Neutralise them.”

“Copy that.”

In the apartment, Bolt had taken position behind one of the L96s. He zeroed the scope on the trailing Viper as Longshot moved to the L82 and zeroed in on the Tele-Viper.

“Green light, firing.” Bolt gently squeezed the trigger. The suppressed rifle barely made any noise as it fired. He quickly shifted his aim to the second Viper as Longshot simply fired at the Tele-Viper.

The half-inch calibre bullet smashed straight through the Tele-Viper’s radio backpack and then through his torso. The Viper dropped from a direct hit to his head. The SAW-Viper was turning toward the Tele-Viper as Longshot’s second shot hit him square in the head.

“They’re down.”

Quickfire signalled to the rest of the team to move out and they jogged along the street heading south.

“We’re on the move to Objective Bravo,” Quickfire informed the snipers.

“Copy.”

The team carried on heading south and Bodycount glanced at his wristwatch as he ran. It was 23:10 local time, less than an hour to midnight. He grunted to himself. Kukri looked around as he jogged alongside the taller commando.

“Nearly midnight,” Bodycount whispered when he noticed Kukri’s look. “Nearly Christmas Day.”

The Ghurkha simply smiled.

Bolt’s voice suddenly came over the radio. “Two Mambas coming in from the east. Get to cover.”

Quickfire waved the team toward a two storey clothes shop which had most of its windows blown out.

The team leaped in the windows and broken glass doors and trotted toward the back of the shop.

“Mambas split up,” Bolt reported. “I’ve got eyes on one, it’s heading for the command post.”

“Second Mamba’s heading for objective bravo. Stand by,” Longshot added.

Objective Bravo was a three-storey hotel the Cobra garrison had taken over as its accommodation.

In the apartment block, Longshot watched as the Mamba landed in the hotel’s parking lot and two figures scrambled from the side-pods. One was wearing a Cobra Officer’s uniform; the other was a Viper.

“Okay, we’ve got trouble,” he muttered in to the open radio channel. “An officer and a Viper just got out of the Mamba and are heading inside.”

“Two Vipers just got out of the other Mamba and are heading into the command post,” Bolt reported.

There was a pause and then what sounded like a fire alarm could be heard ringing out across the silent night. Cobras began pouring out of the hotel toward the vehicles parked in front of the hotel.

“Looks like they know you took out the radio operators, guys. The Cobras are coming out and mounting up.”

Inside the clothing store, Quickfire nodded, even though Longshot couldn’t see him. “Roger that, we’ll hunker down here.”

The German captain led his team upstairs and to the front of the upper floor.

“Everybody stay cool, we’re fine here,” Quickfire said.

“Cobras are moving out. They’ve split up and are sending out foot patrols around town,” Longshot reported. “The vehicles are moving too.”

“Mambas are airborne,” Bolt cut in. “They’re instituting a search pattern.”

“Can you take them out?” Quickfire asked.

“Sure,” Longshot answered.

In the apartment, he moved behind the L82 and took aim at the Mamba that was further south. Longshot adjusted the settings of the scope, zeroing in on one of the Mamba’s rotor hubs as it hovered above the town. Longshot muttered a quick prayer for this to work and then squeezed the trigger.

The .50 round slammed into the rotor hub at 2,799 feet per second, shattering the metal, severing both rotor blades, which went flying in separate directions. The exploding rotor mast sent debris flying into the Mamba’s right side rotor mast, causing heavy damage and the rotors were severed from that side. The Mamba promptly fell out of the sky, crashing into a building.

“One down,” Bolt commented as Longshot shifted position to aim the L82 at the second Mamba. This time, the commando was able to aim at the cockpit. He fired two shots in quick succession. The first smashed through the cockpit canopy, despite it supposedly being bulletproof. The second smashed though the Gyro-Viper’s head. The Cobra pilot slumped forward his body shoving the helicopter into a dive that resulted in the helicopter crashing into a two-storey building.

“Mambas are down.”

“Stay frosty, guys,” Bolt said into his radio. “I’ve got eyes on foot mobiles and armour moving your way.”

Inside the shop, Quickfire looked around at the others as they heard that.

“Composition?” he asked.

“Two Rages and two HISS tanks, two STUNS, HEAT, SAW and regular Vipers.”

There was a brief pause, then Bolt added, “Looks like several of those new Night-Viper guys we’ve heard about too.”

Quickfire considered his options. That seemed to be a lot of armour and infantry heading their way. There again, they could be moving en masse before splitting up. Either way…

“Cripple the vehicles if you can.”

“Not a problem. Stand by.”

The first round from the L82 took out the lead STUN’s front axle, dropping the front of the vehicle onto the tarmac to screech to a halt. Longshot’s second shot hit the second STUN’s Motor-Viper driver.

“Damn,” he muttered. “I was aiming for the HISS and the STUN tried to overtake.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Bolt replied.

Longshot’s third round shattered the left front wheel of the lead Rage tank.

One of the Cobra officer’s caught on quick.

“Sniper! In the apartment building, open fire!”

The two Rage tanks traversed their turrets around and elevated them to aim at the building.

Before either of the Vipers manning the turrets could fire, both were shot with headshots, one from Bolt’s L96 and the other from Longshot’s rifle.

“We’re spotted,” Longshot reported over the radio. “Go loud!”

Inside the shop, Firepower didn’t need any more orders, he slapped his FN MAG down on the window ledge and opened fire with a sustained pattern of full-automatic fire, bullets ripping across the street, cutting down two Night-Vipers, a SAW-Viper and a blue-shirt trooper before the Cobras could react.

Bodycount leaped up next to the Frenchman with his Carl Gustav recoilless rifle in his hands and fired a snap-shot without aiming properly at the vehicles. The 40mm shell struck the side of the turret of the lead Rage, critically damaging the huge twin cannon.

As Boonie, Quickfire and Kukri began to open fire and Firepower continued blazing away, Bolt and Longshot began picking off whichever Cobras they could, before the two HISS tanks opened fire with their gun turrets.

The two snipers dove away from the front of the building as masonry exploded around them.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” Longshot shouted. He quickly slung the L82 over his shoulder and grabbed his L96 before darting to the doorway. Bolt slung his L96 over his shoulder and grabbed his M16.

“We’re displacing,” Bolt called into the radio. “You’re gonna be without sniper support.”

The two snipers leaped over the makeshift tripwire in the doorway and sprinted along the hallway as the HISS tanks continued to pepper the apartment building with fire.

Back at the clothes shop, Bodycount had fired a second shell from the Carl Gustav into the turret of the second Rage tank, killing a Viper who had climbed up to replace the one shot by Bolt and also destroying the turret.

The surviving STUN managed to move around the HISS tanks and the crippled STUN to move toward the shop as Firepower continued to blaze away with the MAG and the other commandos maintained more accurate fire, picking off which ever Cobras popped their heads out.

Bodycount fired his third shell from the recoilless rifle into the front of the STUN as its cannons elevated to fire at the building. The 40mm shell killed the Motor-Viper driver and badly injured the two Vipers in the front weapons pods.

Quickfire picked off another Night-Viper as two SAW-Vipers began lining up the building in their sights.

“Double-Tap! Make yourself useful, call in some air-support!” the German captain ordered.

The Irishman had picked off a couple of Cobras, but had mostly been sticking close to Firepower to assist the gunner if he needed to swap barrels on the MAG.

Double-Tap keyed his radio, “Command Post, this is Kilo 1-1, we’re taking fire from Cobra forces and need air support urgent.”

“Kilo 1-1, this is Command, we copy. I have Thunder 3-1, flight of two Dragonflies on the net, stand by, patching you through.”

[Sundance]

There was a brief burst of static and then a new voice came over the radio. Double-Tap recognised it as Peregrine, a Z Force Dragonfly pilot.

“Kilo 1-1, this is Thunder 3-1, flight of two Dragonflies armed with Hellfires and Hydras. Time on station 1-2 mike. Where’s your target?”

“Thunder, Kilo, we’re in a clothing store in Durham, taking heavy fire from Cobra forces outside. We need you to relieve the pressure. Coordinates as follows,” Double-Tap read off a string of coordinates. “You can’t miss them, it’s all the muzzle flashes in the street, including two HISS tanks!”

“Solid copy, Kilo 1-1, rolling in now. Stand by.”

Double-Tap turned back to the others as Bodycount helped Firepower pull the barrel off the MAG and replace it with a second one from Double-Tap’s dropped backpack.

“Two Dragonflies coming in hot. Danger close.”

Second later, the sound of rotor-blades beating the air could be heard over the gunfire outside.

The two Dragonflies raced low across Durham’s rooftops toward the battle.

Peregrine was loving every second of this. She’d been a pilot in the RAF’s Search and Rescue force before joining Action Force. Held back from flying attack helicopters by inequalities in the British military, she’d jumped at the chance to volunteer for Action Force when she’d heard rumours they were looking for pilots for their new Dragonfly attack helicopters. Now she was living her dream again.

“Targets sighted,” the gunner reported. “Two HISS tanks firing on a five-storey building. They’re going first.”

The gunner locked on with two of the helicopter’s Hellfires and launched the anti-tank missiles.

“Thunder 3-1, missiles away.”

The two Hellfires obliterated the HISS tanks, flipped over one of the STUNs, slamming it into the road with some force and killed several of the Cobra infantry troops.

“Guns, guns, guns,” the gunner announced over the radio before opening fire with the Dragonfly’s 20mm chain gun.

The attack helicopter roared over the Cobras, gun blazing, before pulling away.

“Thunder 3-2 rolling in hot. Guns, guns, guns.”

The second Dragonfly raced down the street, the gunner loosing a single 105mm shell from the skid gun into one of the Rage tanks, before firing off three 40mm shells in quick succession.

Inside the clothes shop, Quickfire and Boonie exchanged looks, as most of the Cobras were cut down.

“Thunder 3-1 coming back around.”

This time the gunner in Peregrine’s helicopter fired off three 40mm shells as the helicopter sped by. The second helicopter raced past, firing the 20mm chain gun.

“Kilo 1-1, Thunder 3-2. All targets have been suppressed, we are RTB.”

“Roger that, Thunder, thanks a lot,” Double-Tap answered.

Quickfire took another look at the burning wreckage on the street below before turning back to the rest of his squad.

“Pack it up, men, we’re bugging out.”

The team worked fast to collect their gear and head out of the building.

The squad was a long way down the next street when Bodycount said, “Um, when are we going to meet up with the snipers?”

Quickfire called a halt. “Damn,” he muttered. “I forgot about them.”

The German quickly keyed his radio. “Longshot, Bolt, check in. What’s your status, over?”

“This is Bolt. We’re heading west on Street 44. We’re secure.”

Quickfire consulted his map before looking around. “We’re on Street 47. Head our way and meet us in the furniture store called ‘Dennings’.”

“Copy.”

Quickfire led the squad toward the furniture store and signalled Bodycount to stay at the doorway and keep watch.

As the rest of the team disappeared inside, the British commando looked at his watch. It said 00:23.

“Hey,” he called out. “It’s gone midnight. Merry Bloody Christmas.”

Double-Tap snorted. “No truce in this war, is there?”

“Nope,” Boonie answered.

January 18th, 1991
Action Force forward command post, Georgeboro, CAC

Skip studied the map on the wall of the office. Map pins marked the towns held by Action Force, those held by Cobra and those held by the Iron Grenadiers.

Besides Georgeboro, which Action Force now largely controlled, the international task force had liberated Barbaraton, Martinsville, Durham, St. Michaels and Mitcheldean. The Iron Grenadiers had control of Nicholasboro and Peterton in the north and Broadlake in the east. Cobra retained control of Saint Sebastian and the immediate area around the capital city.

The short version of the map’s information could be seen as Action Force held the western half of the country, Cobra held the capital in the centre, the Iron Grenadiers held the north-east quarter whilst the south-east was nominally under the Commonwealth’s control since Cobra hadn’t got that far before Action Force had moved in. In practice, most of the southeast quarter of the country was open plains, aside from Adrianville and Quentinville, so no one was really bothered about heading down there.

The other principal urban centre in the south was Joanstown. A Z-Force battle group had been dispatched to the town and was heavily engaged with a Cobra force there.

Further east of Georgetown, toward the edges of the uncontested area, was a town called Leopard’s Den.

Skip turned toward Ring-Tone who was manning the radio in the command post.

“What’s the latest on the force we sent to Leopard’s Den?” the colonel asked.

Ring-Tone checked some sheets of paper and then replied, “Their ETA was ten minutes last time they checked in.” The radio operator checked his watch. “Five minutes ago.”

Main highway outside Leopard’s Den, CAC
That same time

The Z Force group was approaching Leopard’s Den, weapons at the ready. The town wasn’t that huge, so the group was also small, consisting of two Z Force Armadillo mini-tanks, a single Battle Tank, two ATCs and a HAVOC.

The HAVOC was leading the way and rumbled into the town, passing the outer buildings, before swinging on to a side street.

The convoy travelled along the road, Captain Longbow noticing the damage to several buildings and the wrecked HISS tank they passed. The HAVOC turned another corner, knocking aside an over-turned burnt out Stinger jeep as it did.

Longbow keyed his radio as he watched the streets from his position in the second ATC. “Eyes open. Check those corners. We’re in bandit country here.”

The convoy cleared the narrow street to rumble into the town square. Ahead of the convoy was a force of DEMONs and Razorbacks.

The convoy halted. Captain Longbow climbed down from the ATC; four infantrymen close behind him. Two wrecked ASP batteries sat in the square; along with two more destroyed HISS tanks.

Captain Longbow walked carefully toward the Iron Grenadier vehicles, trailed by the infantrymen.

“Excuse me,” Longbow called out. “Could I see your CO?”

Four Iron Anvil paratroopers ran out from behind the vehicles, sub-machine guns at the ready. Captain Longbow raised his hands slowly away from his body and the MP5 slung across his chest.

An Iron Grenadier officer stepped around the nearest DEMON as the Iron Anvils kept their guns trained on Longbow.

“I’m the major commanding this mission. What do you want?” asked the Iron Grenadier.

Captain Longbow frowned, “My force was sent here to liberate the town from Cobra,” he began.

“Well, we beat you too it,” the Major interrupted, his Scots accent just noticeable.

“So I see,” Longbow replied. “I just wanted to know if there was anything we could do to help.”

The Major nodded behind his mask and helmet. “Yeah, bog off.”

“Fine. Thanks.” Longbow lowered his hands as the Major turned away. The officer turned and started walking back to the Z Force convoy, the infantrymen keeping their assault rifles levelled as they carefully moved back to the convoy, not turning their backs.

Suddenly, there was the roar of turbine engines and four Annihilators popped up from behind a building at the edge of the square and zipped across the rooftops. Tor, the Z Force ranger had enough time to see a bright flash off one of the Annihilators before shouting, “Incoming!”

The Ranger swung the ATC’s turret around and opened fire with the 30mm cannon. The bullets shredded two of the Annihilators before the other pair dodged away. The Iron Anvils opened fire at the Z Force infantrymen, who immediately sought cover and returned fire.

Bullets from the Iron Anvils pinged off the armoured canopy of the HAVOC as Rhino, the driver, cringed back before arming and firing his nose-mounted 9mm guns.

Working quickly as the vehicle’s main guns opened fire next, Rhino gunned the engine, shifted into reverse and sped the vehicle backwards, dodging around the battle tank behind his vehicle. A DEMON exploded as the HAVOC’s guns hit it. The tank opened fire with its main cannon and destroyed a Razorback bringing its guns to bear as the two Armadillos sped forward to cover the infantrymen’s retreat.

The town square was a storm of gunfire as both sides kept firing at each other. One of the Armadillos was hit by two shells from a Razorback and obliterated. The Z Force convoy began retreating as Longbow grimly held on to the roll bar at the rear of the other Armadillo as it sped backwards out of the square. Two of the Infantrymen were hanging on next to him. The third, Jayhawk, had the fourth slung over his shoulder and was running ahead of the mini-tank toward the ATC which had stopped out of the line of fire.

Longbow leapt down from the Armadillo’s rear deck and scrambled back aboard the ATC, dispatching the medic in the back to help Jayhawk with his burden before throwing himself into the commander’s seat.

“FOB Avalon, this is Longbow, do you copy? Avalon, Longbow, do you copy?”

“Longbow, Avalon. Go ahead.”

“Avalon, Force Longbow is under attack from Iron Grenadier forces in Leopard’s Den. We need immediate air support, over.”

“Roger, stand by.”

The Z Force convoy was now speeding out of town, pursued by several DEMONs, Razorbacks and Evaders. Both ATCs were returning fire with their 30mm cannon, but the other vehicles had to keep their weapons forward. The two armoured troop carriers launched their four missiles in rapid salvos, destroying several of the pursuing vehicles, but not all of them. It also infuriated the Iron Grenadiers as they called in their own air support.

Four Despoilers screamed across the town, dropped down behind the convoy and opened fire. Their 20mm cannon stitched lines of fire across the rear of the convoy as the vehicles began to spread out more as they raced away from the town.

“Avalon, this is Longbow, we’re taking fire from Despoiler hover-jets, where’s my air support, dammit?”

“Longbow, this is Afterburner. Cool off, Captain, we’re here.”

Two Conquest X-30s screamed across the convoy at high speed, looped around and came back at low-level.

[Sundance]

“Two, this is lead,” Afterburner radioed to her wingman, “I’ve got the pair on the right, you take the pair on the left.”

“Two.”

Both fighters opened fire with their twin 20mm guns and shot down first one Despoiler and then the other in their target pairs. The VTOL single-seaters didn’t stand a chance against the forward-swept wing fighters.

Seconds later, two Dragonfly attack helicopters arrived, sweeping in from the south.

“This is Sierra 5-5, guns, guns, guns.”

The lead Dragonfly fired off a barrage of 40mm shells from its chin turret, obliterating a DEMON and a Razorback before firing a hail of bullets from its 20mm gun to shred an Evader. The second Dragonfly opened fire with a hail of 20mm rockets, destroying four vehicles before it pulled out of its attack run, came around in a tight turn and fired a single 105mm shell which turned an Evader into a smoking crater.

“Sierra flight, this is Alpha 3, I have four AGPs on radar. We’re engaging, watch your six,” Afterburner radioed as she swung her fighter around toward the Anti-Gravity Pods now speeding toward the engagement.

“Alpha 3, Fox Two with two.” The British pilot immediately launched her two AIM9 Sidewinders.

The hat-seekers streaked across the sky homing in on the AGPs before destroying both targets.

“Alpha Four, Fox two with two.” Afterburner saw her wingman’s missiles streak past before losing track of them until two explosions in the sky indicated the targets were down.

“AGPs are toast,” Afterburner reported. The two Conquests sped back past the Z Force convoy, which was still racing west. Only two DEMONs were still in pursuit, clearly driven by terminally stupid drivers as Sierra 5-6 opened fire with two Hellfires and destroyed both.

“Longbow convoy, you are clear of pursuit.”

“Roger that, Sierra 5-5, thanks a lot, guys.” Longbow slumped back in his seat. That had been a hairy half an hour.

January 23rd, 1991
Action Force Command Base, Natanga

Five dark-clad figures moved quietly and carefully through the night towards the perimeter fence of the airfield. Leading the group was Diamondback, the mercenary demolitions expert Cobra Europe had on retainer. The saboteur was thought by some intelligence agencies to be an associate of the mercenary known as Firefly, but what was known was that Cobra Europe had been employing him for six years and that he’d been hired to sabotage a space-borne surveillance system planned to aid in the detection of Cobra and had caused chaos in the Middle East before being thwarted by SAS Force operatives.

Diamondback stealthily approached the fence, glancing back at the shadowy figures behind him. “C’mon,” he whispered, “Follow me!”

Diamondback carefully scaled the low fence and peered around, his sub-machine gun at the ready. The other four men in his team dropped down from the fence next to him. They were members of the Black Dragons, a secretive cabal of mercenaries, assassins, saboteurs and spies who were for hire for the right price. Each of the Black Dragons wore a plain black outfit and a combat helmet, carrying a suppressed sub-machine gun and a short sword.

Diamondback pointed at two of them, “You two, head for the air defence radars. Plant your charges and then fall back.” He pointed at the other pair. “You two come with me. We’ll deal with the Whirlwinds and the mobile missile systems.”

The group split up and began moving across the quiet airfield.

The pair Diamondback had sent off on their own had just reached one of the large radar units when an MP stepped around the unit and punched one in the face before spinning around and hitting the other with his truncheon. The second Black Dragon was unconscious before he even hit the ground. The first, however, had rolled with the punch to some extent and came at the MP.

Deadbolt, the New Zealand-born MP, backed up as the Black Dragon lunged at him. The mercenary missed grabbing the half-Maori soldier, which gave Deadbolt the opening he needed and he swung his truncheon into the mercenary’s face, knocking him out.

As the second mercenary collapsed, Deadbolt pulled his walkie-talkie out and opened the channel.

“Deadbolt to ops. Two intruders down. I’m bringing them in.”

“Roger that,” was the terse reply.

Deadbolt holstered both his radio and his truncheon and grabbed the recumbent Black Dragons by their collars and dragged them back toward the pre-fab Command Centre.

Several metres away, Diamondback and his two companions were approaching one of the mobile missile batteries when six Z Force infantrymen suddenly erupted from beneath camouflage nets and levelled an assortment of assault rifles at them.

“Throw down your weapons,” the squad leader instructed them. “We’ve got you covered.”

Diamondback dropped his sub-machine gun and the backpack of explosives before raising his hands. The Black Dragons followed suit.

Two of the infantrymen moved in and hand cuffed the trio before they were led away.

Shortly before dawn, the next morning

Skip listened to the briefing from Major Lionheart as he studied the pictures from the holding pen the security detail had set up for the prisoners.

“We spotted them as they were making their approach to the fence. I made the call to let them get inside the fence and then we ambushed them, sir.” Lionheart paused to look at the monitor himself. All five would-be saboteurs had been stripped to their underwear and left in the fenced-in pen with their hands cuffed.

“We know the leader’s Diamondback, but we don’t know who the other four are. They didn’t have Cobra sigils on their uniforms. No identifying items at all,” Lionheart went on. “They’re not talking.”

Skip nodded. He’d returned from the front line when he got the news.

“Well, we’ll have to ship them back to Europe on a…”

The Z Force commander was cut off as an explosion sounded outside. A siren began wailing as more explosions sound. The whistle of incoming shells became louder.

“Artillery barrage!” someone shouted.

“Scramble all aircraft immediately!”

Explosions erupted across the base as shells continued to rain down, but it didn’t stop pilots rushing to their aircraft and hastening to take off.

SAS Force Hawks were the first in the air, two blotted from the sky as incoming shells hit them. Then the Z Force Dragonflies, Tomahawks and Trojans began lifting off. A Trojan was hit by a shell, the large transport exploding in mid-air.

“Papa-2-7 to ground control, I see artillery fire from the east. Heading out to investigate,” reported one of the Dragonfly pilots.

The helicopter sped away from the airfield even as Hercules transports began thundering down the runways to lift off.

The Dragonfly attack helicopter screamed overhead as the four Maggot artillery vehicles continue to shell as fast as their WORMS controllers and the Vipers aiding them could load and fire the guns.

“Papa 2-7 to control, I see four Maggots below. Engaging.”

The attack helicopter swung back around and the pilot armed his weapons using the remote controls from the rear cockpit. He’d taken off with no gunner in the front seat.

The 20mm chain gun roared as he fired, destroying one of the Maggots. As the helicopter pivoted to come back for another pass, one of the Vipers fired a shoulder-launched SAM at him and Papa 2-7 evaded it before two Hawks came speeding in.

The two compact SAS Force helicopters opened fire with their guns, hitting a second Maggot and a tent storing shells. The explosions split the air with a thunderclap.

Second later, a Tomahawk flew in, executing a tight pylon turn as the door-gunner opened fire with the 7.62mm minigun, cutting down several Vipers. The heavy-lift helicopter came back around and the pilot opened up with the helicopter’s 20mm chain gun turret, shredding another Maggot.

As the Vipers scattered for cover, a second Tomahawk flew in and dropped to hover off the ground. A squad of Infantrymen leaped from the side doors and moved in.

“Papa 1-9 to control,” a new voice cut in on the radio. “I have a visual on multiple Rage tanks heading your way at speed.”

The Rages were barrelling across the plains toward the airfield as soon as they got in range, the armoured behemoths opened fire, first with short-range surface-to-surface missiles, then with the massive twin-barrelled concussion cannons.

Explosions ripped a hole in the fence on the perimeter and the Rage tanks charged in, now opening fire with the front-mounted mini-gun and with the smaller guns mounted on the tanks’ turrets.

Some of the Z Force gunners manning the Whirlwind batteries returned fire, their guns blazing at the tanks, before a flight group of Hawks sped back to the base and opened fire with their guns, destroying several of the Rages. The remaining pair immediately executed high-speed u-turns and fled.

February 14th, 1991
Over Saint Sebastian, CAC capital city

The two Skystrikers cruised above the capital city at a sedate speed. Moondancer was flying the lead Skystriker with Rascal in the back. His fighter was armed with four AIM-7M Sparrows and a pair of AIM-9 Sidewinders. Trailing behind him was Tornado with a reconnaissance pod on the centre-line hard-point on the fighter’s belly. The pod was another SWF product, containing video cameras, still cameras, a radar system and infrared sensors.

In the last four weeks, Cobra had been on the defensive and on the run. Following their failed attack on the Natangan airbase, Cobra had engaged Action Force several times on the roads leading to Saint Sebastian and been beaten every time. The Cobra troops had been forced to retreat to the capitals suburbs. Most of their heavy weapons destroyed. All of their remaining Maggot batteries, most of their HISS and HISS II tanks, STUNs and Rages had been wiped out. Some Ferret ATVs and MSVs survived, but the Stingers and ASPs were gone. They had a few FANGs and Trouble Bubbles left, but seemed to be keeping them under cover.

The Action Force battle group was closing in on the suburbs of Westfield, Northwood and Southill. The recon mission had been ordered to determine the locations of Cobra vehicles and personnel inside the city. Most of the civilian inhabitants remained inside Saint Sebastian and Action Force’s mission now was to locate the Cobras and take them out without causing too much damage or casualties.

Rascal suddenly announced, “Two bogies coming in from the east. Moving fast and low.”

Moondancer checked his radar screen. The two aircraft were racing across the screen. He activated his radio.

“Two, Lead, two fast-movers coming in from the east. Bug out south-west, we’ll cover you.”

“Two.”

Moondancer turned the Skystriker and dove toward the radar contacts.

“I’ve got a visual,” Rascal reported. “Iron Grenadier AGPs.”

The small Anti-Gravity Pods suddenly banked toward the Skystriker, climbing to meet it.

“They’ve just locked on,” Rascal reported. Seconds later, “They’re firing.”

Both AGPs launched a pair of air-to-air missiles.

Moondancer immediately launched flares and chaff and cut the jet into a tight turn and accelerated, without using afterburner.

A second’s glance at the radar screen showed the second Skystriker was already speeding away and the small missiles homing in on the chaff cloud. Moondancer reefed the XP-14/F into another turn, coming back toward the AGPs as the missiles exploded in rapid succession.

“Can’t risk shooting these douchebags down over the city,” he commented over the intercom. “I’m arming the gun.”

“I’d say good luck, but since I’m stuck with you I’ll just pray,” Rascal replied.

Moondancer smirked behind his oxygen mask as he armed the gun and pushed the throttle to full military power, aiming for the nearest AGP.